


Forget me not

by J_Antebellum



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Post Lethal White
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28094994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Antebellum/pseuds/J_Antebellum
Summary: Post Lethal White. Robin's life is the best it's been in a long time, when she gets assaulted and loses her memories.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 36
Kudos: 22





	1. Life is perfect

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written in 2018 (yes it's taken me THIS long to post it) so no Troubled Blood spoilers at all!

**Chapter 1:**

Robin's birthday was to be celebrated on the second Saturday of October, after her first few weeks living with Gabrielle, a theatre actress that had studied Law with Ilsa before deciding she actually wanted to pursue acting, their friendship remaining strong through the years. That was why when Gabrielle's girlfriend and her had broken-up and the girlfriend had moved out of their shared flat in Earl's Court, Ilsa had asked Gabrielle whether a friend of hers could move in, and Robin had arrived. Gabrielle and her had immediately hit it off through common interests; they were both obsessed with psychology, that Gabrielle considered key for her acting, they both adored animals, all sorts of them, and books, and music, and had started going to concerts together, which had gotten Robin to meet Gabrielle's friends and start seeing Paul, with whom she had gone on about three dates.

To Strike, as much as it pained him to see Robin with another man, he was also happy she was lately thrilled, always grinning, always laughing, always happy as hell. She did a lot of physicotherapy now, and meditation and Tai-Chi, which Gabby had introduced her to, and Paul, who was a Tai-Chi teacher, provided with good vibes and the respect and care Matthew hadn't given Robin, now that the divorce was signed and finished. Paul was understanding and didn't push for a serious relationship; instead, they had dates every now and then, no sex, and loads of fun and kisses, and were to tell each other about the other people they saw, so there were no misunderstandings, although since both of them apparently disliked going after two people at once, this hadn't happened yet. Strike knew a lot about Robin's life now, because their new friendship status meant they told each other _things_.

So now, Strike was arriving to Nick and Ilsa's house, a bottle of wine (Robin's favourite) at hand and his best suit on, and a small bag hanging from his arm with Robin's present, already mentally rehearsing what to say, if 'Happy birthday Robin!' or 'Many happy returns!'. He had gotten to Wandsworth on the tube, and he had last texted Robin about an hour previously, when she had texted 'Leaving Fulham!' and he had replied 'I'll be at N&I ASAP!' and she was supposed to be there already. The surveillance she was doing on Pellington ended about seventy minutes previously and Fulham was close. Strike had come from a job in Stratford, which was definitely farther way, and had had to stop by his attic in Denmark Street to collect Robin's present.

“Hello!” Strike grinned looking at three-months-pregnant Ilsa, who stood fancy in her dress, opening the door for her.

“Hi handsome!” she happily accepted a kiss on the cheek. “Isn't Robin with you?”

Strike frowned and turned, looking at her and stopping halfway through entering the house with too much enthusiasm.

“Robin? Isn't she here? She should've been here like, forty minutes ago at last. She left Fulham over an hour ago and was coming straight here, she told me.”

Ilsa scowled in worry, closing the door drily. Nick and Estella appeared and, seeing their faces, worried as well, frowning and staring at them inquisitively.

“What's up? And Robin?” asked Nick looking at his wife.

“She should've arrived about forty minutes ago, she was just in Fulham working,” Ilsa said quietly, worry evident in her expression. Nick and Estella immediately looked alarmed, and Strike was already on the phone.

“She's not picking up,” Strike said after the third time the voicemail came-up. “Robin, call me ASAP, where are you? We're worried sick here.”

“Should we go find her?” Estella asked.

“It's a half an hour bus trip, from Kelvedon Road to here... but she could've taken many different buses, I told her 11 and 319...” Strike could feel his heart racing. “I'm calling DI Wardle, he can send people to all stops, check CCTV, ask drivers...” he was already punching numbers on his phone when suddenly his phone rang and he picked-up right away. “Ro—, uh, yes,” Strike frowned, being interrupted by a stranger. So it wasn't Robin. “Yes, I'm Cormoran Strike. Yes, I am Robin Ellacott's emergency contact and power of attorney,” she had asked him whether he'd accept that when she had moved to Earl's Court, and she had felt that in London, now, if anything happened to her like it had almost happened the year before with Laing, there was no one to care for her in her place, and knew Strike would know what decisions were best in her behalf. Strike now felt about to throw up, knowing if he was being asked this it couldn't be good. “Excuse me, what did you say? Which hospital?” Strike's eyes widened. He was going to faint, or throw-up, or both at once. “Do whatever you need to do to keep her alive. I'll be right there, and for the love of God, don't you screw it up.”

Strike looked at his friends with shaking hands and the three looked at him with urgency and worry.

“Well?” Estella asked at last. “Say something, you've gone white!”

“Somebody's tried to kill her,” Strike said quietly. “They found her and... that was the doctor, they needed my permission to take her to the theatre for brain surgery,” everyone lost colour at once and they looked shocked. Not a heartbeat could be heard. “They're worried she won't make it to the morning.” Strike said at last, almost inaudibly.

  
  



	2. Vanished memories

**Chapter 2:**

Several hours later, Strike, the Herberts and Estella still waited in a hospital's waiting room. Strike had cried, and he had done so shamelessly, when he had been informed of the gravity of the situation; someone had thrown a hard blown with a hammer against Robin's head, and it had knocked her out instantly. Then, the attacker, still unidentified but with police looking for it, had attempted to strangle her, pulling her into some gardens, but he had been caught and had ran way. Police suspected if he had had more time, he would've raped her, stolen everything from her and killed her, but fortunately for now none of those things had happened. She did, however, have a skull fracture and a really bad brain bleeding and swelling that could get bad enough to make her brain-dead, and Strike didn't have the heart to call her family yet. He couldn't call them in the middle of the night to say what? That he had gotten her hurt again? That perhaps she would never open her eyes again? That even if she did wake up, it was likely that she would be a whole different, disabled person, and wouldn't recognise them either? It broke his heart, and he trembled and trembled in anguish, praying that God would heal her up and give her her life back, even if he had to give his own.

A doctor finally appeared, the Chief of Neurosurgery, Strike knew, because it was so bad only she could tackle it, and although tired, she didn't look sad. Strike stood up in front of her, stripped of colour.

“She's alive,” the doctor said first, making him almost cry in relief. “However... I don't know in which state, not until she wakes up. I was able to repair the bleeding, and the swelling, including her face's swelling, will go down within a few days, I left a small, temporal hole in her skull to reduce the pressure, but she's in induced coma, for now, so she has time to recover. The rest of her is all right, just some bruises, nothing worth-mentioning.”

“So will she wake-up?” Estella asked fearfully.

“We will reduce the medication and let her wake-up in a few days when the scans show enough improvement, yes.”

“Right, but in which state will she be when she wakes up?” Nick asked, putting an arm around Strike to comfort him.

“It's hard to tell but... I don't think she's going to have memory of... of her life,” the doctor said carefully. Strike pressed a hand against his mouth, not really knowing why. “I don't think she'll be able to know herself or anyone else, it seems like that part of her brain suffered a lot of damage... although I think she should be able to create and store new memories just fine once the brain is more recovered. I also think her language will be impaired, which could mean inability to write or read, to express herself... and her personality will likely change. Problem-solving, emotional traits, reasoning, the five senses, spacial orientation... all of that could be affected. More or less, only time will tell. Of course, once we notice each problem, we'll tackle it and we can improve her quality of life with the right therapies and aids but... I think she's likely to be dependent for the rest of her life.”

“I want to stay with her,” Strike said hoarsely. This was a nightmare. This couldn't be real. “Every minute possible.”

“all right,” the doctor nodded. “But stay realistic, Detective Strike. The chances of her recognizing you are one in a million, pretty much. It's almost completely for sure that she will have no idea who you are and therefore, treat you like a stranger. It's very hard to help someone who needs tremendous help but is completely lost in the world from not remembering a person or their own lives or the country they are from.”

“I'm aware,” Strike nodded. “Yet I won't leave her side. That's what partners do, and if she's afraid of me or just doesn't trust me... I'll build everything all over again. I'll become her friend all over again, because that's what you do for a friend.”

Strike was the only one allowed into the ICU to see her, wearing a card that identified him as 24h visitor hanging from his neck, and he crumbled the moment he saw her, lying there, defenceless, her life possibly ruined. He sat holding her hand and staring at her pale, tube-surrounded face, her head so bandaged, and took deep breaths until he had calmed himself down. Then, with the beeps in the dark room as his only audible company, he leaned towards Robin's ear.

“Hi there, Robin,” he said hoarsely. “I'm not sure if you can hear me, but I'm Cormoran. Listen, you got very badly hurt and the doctor says it's going to be very scary now. That things are going to change a lot and become a bit harder, probably but... well, you should know, you're not alone. I'm right here with you, all right? And I'm always going to be right here with you. If you forget me, I'll tell you who I am every single day, and I'll help you get by and come back to work... and we'll make it work, Robin. I promise you, we'll make it work, and you'll have a happy life, okay? Because I'm going to burst my arse to make it happen, even if everyone decided to leave. I'm not going anywhere.”

Strike nodded for himself and kissed her cheek softly before finding a semi-comfortable position on the chair he was occupying, his hand firmly gripping hers over the blankets, and closing his eyes. He knew this was going to be a challenge, but he also knew he wasn't doing anything Robin wouldn't do for him, and the knowledge of this made it impossible for him to demand any less of him.

For five weeks, Robin didn't wake up. Her family and friends from Masham were there often, mostly during the first few weeks, and the ones from London were there every time they were available. Strike never left. He hated hospitals, yet refused to leave Robin's room unless it was to go to the bathroom or eat a quick meal, and he asked his friends and family to bring him every single book about Traumatic Brain Injury and Robin's future problems they could get their hands on. Strike would read them while sitting by her bed, often would read aloud for her, and he would read the newspapers daily for her and comment on the work news their employees Sam and Andy would tell him. Paul was there a couple times, but reasonably for a boyfriend that had barely been in her life for days, he soon stopped coming.

When she finally woke up, she was scared and tried to rip her IV and tubes off, so Strike and the nurses had to restrain her and calm her down. Strike whispered comforting words and stroke her cheek, staring straight into her glassy blue-grey eyes and trying to give her some of his calmness.

“Hey, it's okay,” Strike smiled warmly at her. It was late night and all her visitors had left, except for him, who lived there, practically. Her panicked eyes searched his, but Strike saw no sign that she recognized him. Despite this, he kept smiling and holding her hand while the nurses finished setting everything right.

“The doctor will be here shortly,” a nurse whispered to Strike. “Call us if you need anything.”

“No problem,” replied the detective, his eyes not leaving Robin's. She seemed more relaxed now.

The nurses left them alone in the semi-darkness, the only light coming from a small lamp on top of the dresser, as she wasn't in the ICU any longer.

“How are you feeling?” Strike asked Robin softly.

“Uh...” Robin cleared her throat. “Water?”

Strike's smile grew seeing she knew some words at least and noticing how much he'd missed her voice, and moved to a plastic bottle of water on the night-stand, grabbing one of the plastic glasses they had there for when people came over, and filling it with water before helping Robin drink it.

“Thank you,” Robin said with a clearer voice once she had emptied the glass. She looked around apprehensively. “Where am I?”

“A hospital room,” Strike replied. “Do you know what a hospital is?”

“Yeah... But... why am I here?”

“Because you were assaulted,” Strike replied again. “You've got quite the brain injury, and the doctor said it'd affect your memory. This was five weeks ago... they had to put you in a medically induced coma to help your brain heal and well, you just woke-up.”

“I...” Robin frowned lightly, and Strike had the impression that if the frown wasn't a full scowl was because it'd hurt more. “What day is it?”

“Well it's now eleven in the evening of Sunday, November 18th 2012,” Strike informed. Robin's eyes widened. “Does that mean anything to you? I mean... I don't know how much you remember...”

“I remember nothing,” Robin said shocked. “2012? I don't even know what 2012 means. I mean... Well it's not the Medieval Age, but...” she seemed to be getting more altered by the moment and Strike squeezed her hand.

“Just calm down,” he said. “None of this has to mean anything to you yet. Like I said, your brain's injured, it's normal that you don't remember things, the doctor said you wouldn't remember a whole load of things, so everyone who knows you has been prepared for five weeks. But like all injuries, with time and the right care, it'll all improve, you'll see.”

Robin nodded and took a deep breath, leaning back against the pillows.

“Are you a doctor?” Robin asked then, looking at him.

“No. I'm your friend and work partner, Cormoran Strike,” Strike said. “And I won't leave your side, so don't worry, you're in good hands.”

“I'm sorry I don't...”

“No worries. None of this is your fault... police has just made a couple arrests though, so perhaps we'll soon know whose fault it is.”

“And... who am I?”

Strike smiled small and took his mobile, putting the front camera so she could see herself. This shocked Robin, who touched her nose and chin, looking surprised. Her whole hair had been shaven off and her head was covered by thick bandaging and a beanie for protection, and her face was all-natural, with bits of honey-blonde hair between the brows and in the moustache area. Strike found her beautiful, nevertheless.

“You are Detective Robin Venetia Ellacott,” Strike explained while she stared at herself. “You're twenty-eight, the second of four siblings, and live with a friend, Estella, in a pretty flat in Earl's Court, London, although you've only been in London for close to three years. The rest of your life has been spent with your family in Masham, North Yorkshire. So... you grew up in a small town in North England, with horses and all sorts of animals, and you're great with them, you won some riding prizes even, and then came here, to the big city, to work with me.”

“We're detectives?” Robin asked surprised, returning his phone. Strike nodded. “Woah... quite ironic, isn't it? I'm a detective but I can't figure anything out of my own life.”

“Well, you're the brightest person I know so... patience,” Strike said optimistically. She smiled small and nodded.

Robin's main doctor arrived and spent an hour checking Robin. They were able to determine her memory was affected in unequal ways. She could remember stuff she had learned through studying, like school subjects, Math, English, and even bits of Psychology and horse knowledge. She knew what London was or what an air-plane was, and she could remember bits of her childhood, if she made an effort and was helped a little. If you told her whether she could remember a farm, for example, she'd tell you about horse names and chickens, or that she had an uncle she was close with who owned a farm, even if she couldn't tell the name. She might not be able to tell you the colour of her father's eyes, but she could tell he was a professor, and she might not remember the name of her town's church, but she remembered there was one and a few details of it. She'd remember the most things she had spent time studying, learning and memorizing in a conscious way, and less or nothing things that she hadn't really studied but memorized through time, like names, including her own, life events, birthdays or orientation. North and East meant nothing for her. The years or months, nothing either. She knew how many hours was a day and how many days was a month, but as she had no track of life events, and therefore had no idea what had happened when, being told they were in November was meaningless.

She had no idea what she drove, or what colour her room was, or what zodiac she was. The less important something was for her, like her favourite number, the less she'd remember it. To her, the last that had happened to her could've been school, because she remembered studying in a school, although she didn't know the school's name or classmates, or whether she had liked it or not. She didn't know her favourite food or drink, nor whether she smoke, and she had some idea that her brothers were Stephen, Martin and Jonathan, but none about in which order they came, what things they had done together, or how each was. To her, they were just names she knew she was related to, but abstract figures in her mind nevertheless. They showed her her own bag with her keys, her wallet, her mobile, but she didn't recognize them, even if she knew what they were. Keys, of course she knew what a key was, but which one opened what? No idea. A wallet, cards, money, but was £20 a lot of money or little? What could she buy with that? What was her bank account password? And she stared at the family pictures she kept in her wallet, ID size, and although she thought they were familiar, they didn't know who they were. When Strike told her it was her parents and brothers, she was surprised, but admitted they looked alike.

And the more recent something was, the more inexistent it was in her memory. So she had some vague, loose memories, like owning a red tricycle, but most of them were from her earliest years, and nothing from the most recent ones. Strike, therefore, considered better not to mention Matthew at all.

  
  



	3. Learning a life

**Chapter 3:**

First thing in the morning, while Robin slept, Strike phoned her parents and let them know everything, preparing them for what they would find. Then, when Robin awoke, he proceed to cut her some apples sitting by her bed and observe her eating while telling her about her parents, who'd visit soon, and drinking a strong creosote tea. She had requested sitting on an armchair and going to the bathroom on her own -with a nurse's company for safety- so she seemed to be feeling better, and wishing to stretch her legs. As they waited for visiting hours, she asked whether it'd be possible for them to walk a little, because she had been lying down for so long she felt in great need of a walk. The nurses thought this was a good sign, and Strike was allowed to take her to the garden, as long as she wore her housecoat thickly tied, and a blanket, because it had rained the day before, and as long as she held onto her IV bags' wheeled hanger.

And so the two sat on a bench in the hospital's small interior garden, and Robin accepted a tea in one of those take-out glasses.

“Thank you for staying with me, Cormoran,” Robin said as they sat. “Although you don't have to, if you have things to do. As a detective, you must be busy.”

“Don't worry about work,” said Strike. “There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”

“Oh, come on,” Robin smiled. “You'd rather spend the day in a hospital than going out to a... park or pub or something?”

“Of course I'd rather be in a pub, I hate hospitals,” Strike shrugged. “But you're one of my best friends, and in our job, we have each other's backs. I could never sit calmly in a pub drinking a pint knowing you're here. And besides,” he added, feeling like smoking a pack, but almost used to not smoking because it wasn't allowed there, “a while ago, you made me your power of attorney, so I have some responsibility here. I'll stick around with you and when you're discharged, I'll be discharged.”

“That's very sweet of you,” Robin appreciated, looking kindly at him. “It means a lot,” Strike managed a smile in return. “So we're not... a couple?”

Strike's ears turned scarlet and he shook his head.

“No,” he replied. “I'm ten years your senior Robin, you can do better,” he joked to distract her, and when she rolled eyes and smirked, it almost seemed like _her_ Robin. “You had started dating Paul days before you were attacked, but now...” he shrugged. “It doesn't seem appropriate, right? For a man that you've only known for a couple weeks to be here through your worst. He came a couple times, it was the polite thing to do, but I told him you wouldn't remember him anyway, so he was free to go.”

“Yeah, I don't remember any Paul or any partner...” Robin admitted, not giving it much importance. “You did right. I wouldn't want to ruin his life by making him remain by the side of someone as injured as I am, when he was just looking to date someone a bit.”

“Yeah... although there's something important you need to know. I wasn't going to tell you, I didn't see the point, but then it occurred to me he might come and take advantage of your situation... anyway...” Strike cleared his throat. “There's a man, Matthew Cunliffe. Does he sound familiar?”

“No. Who is he?”

“He's your ex-husband,” Strike replied. Robin frowned, but Strike seemed so calm, it rubbed on her. “Matthew and you met in school, started dating in your teens, and you filed for divorce a few months ago, after a year married, and luckily the divorce was finished before this. What you must know is that he isn't a good man. He's a cheater, a liar, manipulative and he abused you psychologically. He tried to control your life and make you do what he wanted, he was always jealous and accusing you of cheating, and he got furious by anything you did, so you had to lie frequently to protect yourself, until you had the strength to leave him, after you found out he was cheating... _again_. This is the guy,” Strike searched for his phone and found a picture he had gotten of Matthew so he could show her what to avoid. She looked at the picture, but didn't seem familiar. “Remember his face, okay? If he comes around, you tell the nurses to kick him out. If he finds out you've forgotten what he did, I wouldn't be surprised he tried to start over with you, and he's unworthy of you. You don't have to believe me, but you can ask anyone.”

“I believe you,” Robin affirmed. Strike seemed happy to hear this, and put his phone back inside his pocket. “This must sound crazy but... even if you're unfamiliar to me... something inside tells me you're a friend. It's like a part of me remembers.”

“It's not surprising. You've always been incredibly smart,” they both smiled at that, and for a moment, it seemed like nothing had happened.

“What exactly happened to me, Cormoran?”

“Well, on October 9th it was your birthday, so later in the weekend we were going to celebrate at my best friends' house with a dinner. You lived with them for a month when you left your ex, so you're close as well. Anyway, you were working not too far from their house, so you'd go there straight from work, and I'd meet you there later, because I was working way farther away. No one's quite sure what happened, but it seems like you were walking to the bus stop to get to our friends' house, and someone hit your head with a hammer.”

“Ouch...”

“Yeah... fortunately it was one blow only, but skull fracture, big damage. Passers-by noticed a man dragging you into some gardens, probably to rape you and take your things, and they shouted and scared him off, and called the police. I know you're really good at self-defence, so my guess is that it was so fast, so sudden, that you didn't even see it coming. Perhaps you were on the phone checking the route or...” he shrugged. “I don't know.”

“We will find out,” Robin affirmed. “We're detectives.” And in her resolve, Strike saw a glimpse of the defiance she had always shown, her determination, her strength, and he felt that perhaps, his Robin hadn't gone anywhere, she was just buried under fogginess.

Robin wanted to take a short nap before her parents came, so they went back to her bedroom, she keeping a grip of his arm for support, and she slept for another hour. When she woke-up, her parents and Strike were talking quietly in a corner of the room, the farthest from her bed, to not bother her.

“Robin,” Linda Ellacott grinned at her, standing up and leaning to kiss her forehead. Robin was immediately wrapped by her warm, friendly vibes, the way the woman could make you feel like family in an instant, and she felt safe, despite not remembering many characteristics of her. She knew she was her mum. “How're you feeling, love?”

“I'm okay, you?” Linda laughed softly.

“Oh, I'm perfectly fine.”

“We're very happy to see you,” Michael Ellacott said, standing by his wife and looking lovingly at Robin. His dark eyes made her feel warm inside.

“I'll be downstairs in the cafeteria,” Strike announced, deciding to give them some privacy. Robin would've objected, wanting for him to be nearer, but she understood he was probably tired -he looked pale and with deep bags under his eyes- and he could use an hour on his own.

“Okay,” Robin nodded. “Thanks for everything, Cormoran.”

“No problem,” Strike smiled at her. “Call the nurses if you need anything and I'll be right back.”

Strike left and tiredly made his way to the cafeteria. He craved a shower and a fag, but he didn't dare to get too far from Robin. He had a feeling that she knew her aggressor, and that this was why it had caught her so much by surprise when he had hammered her. Therefore, he was attentive of any visitors, thinking that they might come and kill her before she could remember him.

  
  



	4. New homes

**Chapter 4:**

On Wednesday, while Robin's family and some friends visited her at the hospital, Strike was forced to finally leave the hospital, because their new secretary, Jude, had called him hysterical because she had seen letters about them being evicted. Strike, who knew their building, along with some others in Denmark Street, had been bought by a developer, which put them under direct threat of losing their office. Strike had never told Robin this, and he wasn't about to do it right now of all occasions.

He climbed the stairs to his office as fast as his leg-and-a-half allowed, having enjoyed the fresh air very little, and appeared at their office, where Jude, the black, short, plump woman that he was willing to have permanently, because she was intelligent, hard-working, sweet and skilled, sat at what had been Robin's desk -Strike had plans of establishing a new office for her as soon as they could- was waiting for him with a creosote mug of tea already prepared.

After asking about Robin, Jude passed him the envelopes that had been arriving. The latest one, dated the day before, was a letter from the developer himself, and it wasn't too long.

_Dear Mr Strike,_

_I hereby inform you that despite our appreciation for your private investigation services and our desire for you to continue your successful agency catching serial killers, we have no option but to ask you to please vacant this office in Denmark Street 6, headquarters of Strike & Ellacott Private Investigations, as well as your attic flat above it, before Monday, December 10th 2012._

_Because we know of your delicate economical situations and we have in high esteem all the work your agency has done for this country, we would like to concede you an economical compensation of £100,000 for the costs of finding not just a new office, but a new home. Please visit my office (address below) any day from 8AM to 3PM so we can take care of the paperwork to transfer the money._

_We are very sorry for the trouble. Also, we would like to communicate you that your building will be reformed into an apartment building, and we will be happy to gift you a flat there, completely for free, once the constructions have finished. We can talk about this in my office. Below you will also find my phone number, and email address._

_Sincere regards,_

_Allen McWorthen, Developer._

“Here is the eviction warrant from the court,” said Jude, handing Strike another envelope when she saw he had finished reading. “They say basically the same thing. So we're out?”

“No choice. But they've been awfully nice with this money, so I'll go now to obtain it and you start looking for new places we can move to, all right? Central London, bathroom, two inner offices so we can give Robin one, and heating system, you know the budget, just add this money. We'll move ASAP.”

“But Cormoran,” Jude called, with a worried expression, as he was about to leave. “Will Robin come back?” Strike sighed and shrugged.

“I don't know, Jude. But she and I started this, and I won't let it crumble. I owe her that much, and if she decides not to come... she'll always have a place here to call her own.”

It took Strike all morning to handle everything with the developer. He was a nice, police man, and handed him the big cheque with ease, but Strike knew why he was being gifted so much money and why they were being so nice to him. Strike owned the best-known Private Detective Agency of London, and pissing him off meant he could easily find the dirty rags everyone had and ruin their lives, that without mentioning that the press would eat the developer's business once they found out he was kicking out and leaving for homeless the person who had caught, between others, the Shacklewell Ripper. They didn't need the bad publicity, and handing so much money could give them a lot of good publicity. Strike had to admit that with such amount of money he'd be able to rent, and perhaps even buy, a good place to live, finally, as well as an office.

As he left the bank after putting in the money, Strike was walking around Soho and Fitzrovia eating a hamburger when his eyes fixed on a corner building, the 23 of Rathbone Place [ **A/N:** This is a real building in London that can be seen in Google maps, corner with Gresse Street. Originally, the building is actually the 35 of Gresse Street and has a Peruvian Restaurant below, but for story purposes I decided to change things up a little so you will find things that aren't real, as we're in a world of fiction]. It first attracted his attention because it's entry, a thin door, was between a guitar store, which reminded him of Denmark Street, and a pub, the Wheatsheaf, with it's dark blue front.

The building looked like an old, modernised one, and Strike could see on a window in the third floor a giant 'FOR SALE'. Strike entered the building on a whim, gulping the last of his hamburger, and saw a business-like hall with a lift and stairs. He took the lift, and decided to pursue an adventure he wouldn't have even thought of it it wasn't for the newly received small fortune. There was only one door and Strike pushed the doorbell. Right away, a short blonde opened.

“Hello!” she said enthusiastically.

“Hi, uh,” Strike scratched his beard. “My name is Detective Cormoran Strike, and I'm looking for a new office and a new flat, I saw this one's for sale and came to take a look. I'm willing to make a good offer.”

“Oh, perfect. I'm Marissa Farrow, from the estate agency, let me show you,” she opened the door and let him in. “This one is an office, 1080 square feet, toilet, reception area, two inner offices and very luminous, as you can see.”

They were in a rectangular reception, with a small toilet and a kitchenette to their left, the doors for the two inner offices in front, and sofas to their right. There was a reception desk, and two wide windows to their right to Rathbone Place and in the offices the windows led to Gresse Street. The office of the right was the corner office, and it had two wide windows, big, and then a round corner with three thin ones, while the other office only had two wide, big windows. Strike decided Robin would have the corner one, so she could have the most natural light.

Strike made a good offer, and the woman called the owner, who was very happy with it and agreed to close the deal, so they arranged to meet on Monday and do the paperwork and payment then, and Miss Farrow removed the For Sale signs.

“It's been a pleasure doing business with you,” said Strike happily, as he shook Ms Farrow's hand before leaving.

“Before you leave, Mr Strike,” she said suddenly. “You said you were looking for a flat?”

“Yeah, but I'll keep looking, it's fine. At least the office's sorted out, we were being evicted, you know? Have to hurry up,” Strike couldn't stop smiling. He was cheerful. He couldn't wait to see Robin's face when he told her he had gotten them a superb place in Fitzrovia.

“Well, actually, above this office there's a flat we've been trying to sell for a while, at a lot prize, but no one wants it,” said Ms Farrow. “Thing is, an old lady lived there and she died there, so people don't quite like a flat where people's died, you know? It's half-prize by now, the owner at this point just wants to sell it after a whole year trying... You see, the entire building was flats, but who bought this office, made it into an office, so they're a bit different. I could show you if you want.”

“Oh,” Strike looked surprised. Would he be so lucky to find himself another flat right above his office? He had no problem living where someone had died. “That'd be fantastic, thank you very much.”

They took the lift to the floor above. The biggest inconvenience was that the roof was right above, which Strike didn't know why it was an inconvenience, and that someone had died there, but otherwise it was a 100ft square flat, so big and decent it made Strike feel like hosting a big family dinner, for some reason. He had never lived somewhere like that in his whole life.

The main door opened into a thin, short corridor, made by the bathroom to the left and the guest room to the right, and as they walked on, Strike saw a small kitchen to his left, and then the corridor opened into a small sitting-cum-dinning room over what would be his office. The master bedroom was above what would be Robin's office. Strike didn't need much time to sign another deal, and call Jude to stop looking.


	5. The bright side

**Chapter 5:**

Strike arrived at the hospital in the afternoon, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off his chest. He'd be able to fully pay both properties in about five years and he was able to put a generous deposit already, he had spoken on the phone with both owners, the office manager and one granddaughter of the dead old lady, and they were both happy to hear it was Cormoran Strike, the detective, who they were selling to. It was also a big novelty for Strike to buy, as this hadn't happened in his whole life, and he felt like he had taken a huge step forward. After having been evicted, he didn't want to rent again and be, once again, submitted to the real possibility of being kicked out anytime. Now, they would be able to grow a stable business, and when it grew, Robin and Strike could share one inner office while two new employees took the other one, if necessary, although for now, their employees Andy and Sam, being subcontracted, needn't an office.

It was also pretty nice to be able to tell Robin 'we're moving to a wonderful new place!' instead of 'we're getting kicked-out and I don't know where we're going to be now'. He opened her hospital bedroom carrying a bag full of sweets he had just bought for everyone.

“Hello!” he said cheerfully. He was glad to see most of the guest had left now, and his friends had arrived, so it was only Nick and Ilsa, Lucy, Estella, Vanessa Ekwensi, Robin's parents, Stephen and Jenny. Robin herself was sitting-up in bed against a bunch of pillows, in her pyjamas, drinking what seemed like a green juice and with a shadow of a smile in her face, while the others sat around, seemingly chatting animatedly. It was a nice change. “I've brought sweets for you all!”

“Hi!” there was a general greeting.

“I take the bad news from work weren't that bad?” Robin asked Strike once he had settled at the feet of her bed, saluted everyone, given around the little tarts and sweets, and opened a can of Doom Bar.

“Oh it was awful news, couldn't be worse,” Strike smiled nevertheless. He had left looking grim hours before only saying that there were big problems at work and he had to go. “But I fixed everything and I've got the best possible news I could have.”

“What happened?” Robin asked with renewed interest, sitting-up straighter.

“Months ago, our office's landlord told me he had sold to a developer, so it was likely we were kicked-out. Given that I live in a small attic over the office, it meant I'd lose pretty much everything, but I told no one, not even you, thinking we might not be evicted after all. Months passed, no news, I thought the threat was over, that the developer wouldn't do a thing, until today we received the official warrant from court to formally communicate the eviction.”

“Oh no!” Ilsa gasped.

“Don't panic, it's all good. Turns out the developers are worried of how will they look to the public eye once it's known our very well-known, famous agency is going to the street because he is kicking us out to make an apartment building, so they offered a very generous compensation to look better. £100,000. And how lucky are we, that when I was just walking around after putting the money in the bank I pass by this wonderful building in Rathbone Place, Fitzrovia, which is a generally luxurious, centre-city neighbourhood where I never thought we could afford anything, I see a giant 'For Sale'.”

“That _is_ luck. You could afford it?” Vanessa asked surprised.

“With an extra hundred thousand, sure,” Strike grinned. “Third floor office, two inner offices, beautiful windows, safe area, corner building. It's perfect, 100ft squared.”

“That's not too big,” commented Michael.

“Oh, you should see my attic, that'll look like a manor next,” Strike told him. “And we don't really need more, it's just us and our secretary.”

“You told me we had employees...” Robin commented.

“Subcontracted, Andy and Sam, they don't need an office. You don't remember our current place, but is smaller, I guarantee you. This office belonged to a businessman whose business had grown and the office had become small, and he had just wanted to sell it to have some money straight-away for a bigger place, as it was urgent, so everyone's happy, we close the deal on Monday. And for greater luck, I was just leaving when the sales rep tells me there's a flat above, because the whole building is flats and the office had just been reformed into an office after having originally been a flat. This flat above is empty, and no one wants to buy it because an old woman died there, so it's been for sale for a year, and the prizes were now half of what they initially were, I saw the place, is just incredible, and I bought it. Two impulsive decisions in one morning, two splendid ones.”

“You're getting so happy for a 100ft square flat?” Jenny smiled warmly. “Oh, you're so easy to content, Cormoran!”

Strike knew in Masham they could all afford, easily, a nice big house with garden. Robin's house no less, was pretty big, for what Strike had seen from outside.

“You just need to see where we lived as children,” Lucy murmured. Then, she smiled at Strike and squeezed his knee lovingly. “So good! You have to invite us over now.”

“You know what? With the place I've gotten, you can bet on it. I'm on a lucky streak, almost bought a lottery ticket. So how're you doing?” Strike looked at Robin questioningly.

“Still don't remember most things,” Robin shrugged. “But I'm starting to see the good side of things, like, I don't remember my problems, I know nothing of politics, and I have no recollection of anything remotely sad in my life, and hearing as I was raped and someone's tried to kill me twice and now thrice, I can only imagine it's a positive thing, right?”

“That's right,” Strike managed a smirk. “Besides, you get to try all foods again not knowing which ones you dislike, and you can meet us all once again.”

“Yeah and everywhere I go to is a new place, keeps the excitement going,” Robin smiled small. “Speaking of which, I'm being discharged on Friday. Lucy says it's your birthday, we can celebrate!”

“Wait, discharged?” Strike frowned. “But you're not well enough yet, how can they discharge you already?”

“There's nothing more they can do for her, Oggy,” Nick, the only doctor in the room, explained. “It's better to send her home, see if that sparks any memories or something.”

“Yeah, so we've been discussing whether I should go back to Masham or stay in Earl's Court. The doctor says I should be released into someone's care since... well, I don't even know how much is 100ft squared, or cooking, or what a vacuum is. She says I shouldn't be left alone.”

“I'm trying to convince her to stay,” said Estella. “I can care for her and everything, it's no problem, I don't work that much.”

“But we think perhaps she'd be better off with us in Masham, where her entire family can care for her,” Stephen commented.

“What do you want?” Strike asked Robin. She looked confused and tired.

“I want what's best for me, but I don't know what that is. On one side, I don't feel like getting in a five hour road-trip to a place full of people who know me and expect me to remember them, and I'm not fit for flying yet. On another side, I think staying where I've spent most of my recent years could help me remember more things. And I do work here, I guess.”

Strike bit his lip an nodded slowly.

“Uhm, Robin, obviously it's up to you, but our agency is called Strike & Ellacott, it has for months now, so there will always be a place for you, now even your own office, whenever you feel like coming back, we'll wait for you. Doesn't matter if you go to Masham or not, the agency will be ready for you whenever you're back.”

“You speak as if I could work,” Robin half-smiled. “Let's be realistic, Cormoran. I can barely remember my own phone number, I'm of no use to you anymore. What's a detective without memory? Whatever you ever taught me about the job, is gone. Everything is. I'm about as useful as a three year old, and that's being optimistic. So I quit,” the words felt like a bucket of cold water on Strike's head. She didn't even look too sad, and it was normal, given that she couldn't remember loving the job or being happy with it. “I guess that nothing really keeps me in London aside from friends that, no offence, but I don't remember any of you, as much as I'd love to, and this is, for what you say, an expensive city and I don't have possibilities of earning money for now, so staying here would be crazy. If most of my life I've been in Masham, I bet it helps my memories come back and... well... I do have a room there waiting for me, wouldn't need to spend much money, and Mum says my Uncle could employ me at the farm, I could learn that job easily. Yeah... I think it's the best for everyone. I'm really sorry.” She added looking at the Londoners. “I'm sure you're all formidable friends and I cannot put into words how much it means to me that you care so much and have been doing so much. I wish I could stay and know you all again, but unfortunately, I've got no resources and I refuse to be anyone's responsibility. The big city is too big, too expensive and too cruel for people with my sort of injury.”

“Well we'll miss you,” Estella smiled sadly. “But we can video-call and write letters, uh? We could visit you up north.”

“Of course,” Linda grinned. “Anytime.”

“Yeah, that'd be cool,” Robin managed a sincere smile. She looked at Strike, who looked defeated, staring at his can of Doom Bar. She then felt a pang of sadness inside. He hadn't left her side in over a month and a half, she was obviously important for him, he had just paid to get a good office for her, and he had been so excited just a moment ago. Even if she couldn't remember, they were obviously good friends, and despite the circumstances, Robin could emphasize a lot with him. His good friend and partner was just going to leave and God knew what'd happen to their relationship. As if she was dead, she would just be gone, and nothing of what he remembered of her was there anymore, probably. “We'll celebrate your birthday before I go, right? And you'll visit, right?” She said, poking his hip softly with her foot under the blankets to call his attention. Strike looked up like a sad puppy and forced a smile, nodding.

“Don't worry about my birthday, it's just thirty-eight, and I have over a month worth of work to catch-up with so...” Strike shrugged. “Not much time to celebrate.”

“Nonsense, we'll have dinner—,” Lucy attempted, but Strike's glance was enough to shut her up.

“We still have to find the bastard who did this,” Strike said. “So, work. But when all of this is over, I'll visit.”

“I thought it's the police's job to figure that out,” said Robin. Of course, she had no idea of the things they did.

“Oh, well... you see, we always help out, because they're often not that good and well... I was an investigator for the army, for twelve years, so I'm a bit better than some,” he tried not to completely disrespect the police, with Vanessa present. “And we've caught murderers working with the police before. You actually kicked one in the groin last year,” he added with a small smile at the memory. “Yeah... so our friend Wardle in the police expects me to help around, and who would I be if I didn't personally punch whoever hammered my friend, uh?”

“Yeah, he likes to be our number one nightmare,” Vanessa teased. “Half the Met is mad at you two.”

Robin nodded, smirking.

“Well, thanks then. Let me know when you catch them.”

The guests left closely after, as visiting hour ended, and Strike, once again refusing offers to substitute him, went to shower in the en-suite bathroom and got into his pyjamas. Robin was already asleep when he left the bathroom and, as he contemplated her sleeping, he couldn't help feeling like he was mourning her, in some level. He didn't recognize much of his old friend in the woman anymore, and he had wept silently in the shower. He didn't want her to go, but he knew that the Robin who loved being a detective and got excited about it, wasn't there anymore. This knowledge brought tears to his eyes, as he remembered his favourite moments with her, and he had trouble going to sleep with a knot in his throat.

  
  



	6. Writing letters

**Chapter 6:**

On Thursday, Strike packed a couple bags of the things he had kept at Robin's room and took them to his attic, and on Friday, Robin was released. She wished him many happy returns and gave him a brief hug that sent knives to Strike's insides and he faked a smile, knowing her birthday gift would be losing her, as she left that day for Masham and Estella looked for a new flatmate, and the moment he dropped her off at her flat in Earl's Court, where the family and Estella had packed her things and where getting them into the Ellacotts' Land Rover, he was ready to go.

“Don't worry about a thing, love,” Michael told her daughter, putting a suitcase into the trunk. “All ready, that was the last one. We're ready to go!”

Robin had already bid farewell to the others on previous days, so she hugged Estella tightly, thanked her profusely, and demanded for her to write her emails or something, and then went to Strike, who had already bid farewell to the rest of her family and was watching as everyone got in the Land Rover.

“Well,” Robin took a deep breath and smiled at Strike. Her hair was very short, but now it was visible, as the cut on her head had healed, leaving a scar that would be buried by her hair once it grew. Vanessa had taught her, after she had asked, how to do her eyebrows and make-up and she looked a bit more herself now. “This isn't a goodbye, okay? Just a... see-you-later.”

“Right,” Strike nodded. “Take care of yourself, uh? And call me.”

“I will,” Robin promised. “And you too. Thank you for everything. I don't know who I was, but I know I was very lucky to meet you. You've been an incredible friend and I know I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you too. Come on, get out, don't make me emotional,” they both giggled a little and to his surprise, she hugged him tightly.

It felt like that hug a year before, by the stairs at her reception, and for a moment Strike forgot she wasn't the same and kissed the top of her head, hugging her back. That night, he drank until he fell asleep.

**. . .**

For a month, the identity of Robin's attacker was still unknown. It had been too dark for the witnesses to know, too fast, no camera footage, nothing. It was almost like a ghost had done it. Police had utterly lost, and so was Strike, whose life's highlights were the numerous phone-calls from Robin, and letters that surprisingly he received in the mail every now and then. The calls were often quick, just to check-up, but the letters were long and full of things, as if it was easier for Robin to express that way. It was almost as if she could remember how he liked receiving letters, like in the old times.

On the cold night of New Year's Eve, Strike was snuggled-up on his new sofa in his new sitting-room, a gift from Nick and Ilsa. He had a Doom Bar small bottle in one hand, and a letter from Robin in another. He had received it that morning, but hadn't had time to read it before.

_Dear Cormoran,_

_I'm glad you're liking my letters so far. I like writing to you, and knowing that whatever I say, it's not too crazy for you. It's easier, somehow, to write down the craziness in my head rather than say it out-loud, seeing how people's expression changes and how their voice becomes full of worry._

_I feel pretty alone. My therapist here says it's because I've forgotten everything, so I don't have old ties to anyone, and I guess she's right. No matter where I look, there aren't years of knowing something or someone, loads of good memories, nothing. I don't even have myself. But when I write to you, I feel less alone,because I know you're there, and you don't act strange just because I don't remember. My friends and neighbours here always get so awkward with me... and my family sometimes doesn't know how to continue a conversation. Often they remember something funny and tell me, or start the 'remember when...?' and then notice their mistake and start apologizing for hours, or get tense. But I'm getting to focus on discovering myself. I've seen my books and my clothes, my personal belongings, and I like what I see. I like seeing I liked psychology, crime, mystery, animals and people, I like listening to my music... although sometimes I get sad, because it feels like I was someone, a best friend, I'd love to meet, but I can't. And she's so close it feels like she's just there in the mirror... but when I try to reach her, I can't cross to the mirror's side. Does that make any sense to you?_

_Here it's awfully cold and snowy, ice all over, but I like wearing all my jumpers at once, and my dog, Rowntree, he's amazing and warms my bed at night really nicely! The animals at the farm are wonderful too. I feel more comfortable around animals, who never look weird at me. Sometimes I think people resents me for not being the same. The other day, mum was devastated because she had made a purée with vegetables that she said I loved, but now I didn't like it anymore. She felt like a failure, I suppose, or like I was a stranger, and no matter what I couldn't make her feel better. The farm, however, is a nice place to be, and I'm learning the job just fine. I love the town and the fresh air, and my uncle's a sweetie._

_Oh, I almost forgot! I haven't told anyone because I don't want weird reactions, but I've been having some weird dreams, I think they're flashbacks. Sometimes they're so intense and frequent I get huge headaches and have to lie down and take a nap, but other times they're smaller things. They feel too real to be mere dreams, you know? One was about riding a horse, then others like, going to a party in a pub, being very young... but last night, it was with you. I dreamed a man was pointing at me with a gun and you appeared, and knocked them out, and then put an arm around my shoulders, and I dreamt of smelling smoke and somehow, I related it with you as well. Last night I also dreamed of walking through a park or a garden, of a blue big D over a yellow background on a red building, and a University of Bath sweatshirt. Weird, isn't it?_

_Anyway, how's everything there? The flat, the office? Tell me everything!_

_Big hugs,_

_Robin xoxo_

Strike's eyes widened, rereading about the flashbacks she was getting, and he felt his heart hammering. After a quick Google Street View Search, Strike took a picture of it and sent it to Wardle accompanied by a simple text 'Matthew John Cunliffe, Robin's ex-husband, went to Bath's University. Robin was found in Parsons Green's Park, and one of the buildings nearby is red and has a big D of Duke on the Garden. I think her dream is the night she was attacked.' Then he took a deep breath and sat at the table with a few paper-sheets and a pen.

_Dear Robin,_

_You know I really like receiving your letters, highlights of my day! I'm sorry to hear you're feeling so lonely, but I hope you know I'm always here for you and I understand. Better times will come, and you're doing so very well, you should be proud of yourself. You're doing exactly what I'd advice you to do._

_About your dreams, I think they're definitely memories flying back, flashbacks. You should write them down, one by one, the minute you have them and with as much detail as you can, all right? One of them could reveal who attacked you, and I think in fact the last one you mentioned does, so I'm talking with Wardle about it. You were found in Parsons Green' Park, Fulham, and there's a red building with a big D like the one you describe right there. That makes me think your attacker owns a Bath University, and it could mean nothing (everyone can acquire those sweatshirts), but Matthew went to Bath, so please, as he's in Masham, do your best to stay away from him and don't walk around alone. He could try hurting you again, if he's responsible. Please, just until the attacker is in prison, all right?_

_About the smoke smell, I am a smoker. You didn't see me smoke, because hospital rules, but I smoke like a chimney and my office in Denmark Street used to smell alike, so when we hugged, you must've smelt it. That's definitely a memory of me :) so congrats! So is the gun thing. Last August, a man named Raphael held you hostage at gunpoint and I brought police to you and comforted you like I could. So that's actually a very recent memory, you may be remembering a lot! Take it easy though, will you? Naps do help._

_I understand you more than you can imagine. You don't know this, but on May 12 th 2007, I was investigating a Killed-In-Action in Afghanistan when the vehicle I was in exploded due to an Improvised Explosive Device (IED). The explosion took some friends and only two of us survived, my mate DI Anstis (Met) and I, who saved his life. Somehow I felt the explosion was about to happen, and I grabbed him, shouting for the vehicle to stop, and pulling him to the back of the vehicle with me. Half his face suffered skin injuries, but I lost the lower half of my right leg. It's actually a prosthesis now, from half a calf down._

_The explosion gave me PTSD, and I know about the dissociation and loneliness, the reactions, the looks, the comments. To this day, I still refuse to let anyone see me without the prosthesis, with the exception of sexual relationships, and you, who ironically have always been the one to treat me with absolute normalcy over the leg, and I've always felt comfortable being without the prosthesis around you. And no one really gets, it, isn't it? I've got a mild-phobia towards being driven by anyone but you and professionals (you drove better than specialized army drivers), and also in trains. I don't talk about these things often or easily, but lately, before the attack, you and I used to talk about everything, and I stopped being the private person you always knew me to be. I'd tell you about my PTSD, you'd tell me about yours, from the rape, the Raphael thing, and the murder attempts on you. You were to therapy but dropped it, and you were suffering anxiety attacks, but we always had each other's backs._

_Thank you for writing to me. I hope you keep doing better and better. Don't worry if you feel alone -it's all in your head. For normal people, it's hard to understand the kind of experiences we've had, and although they try their best, they don't always manage, but sometimes you give them the chance to learn it, and they surprise you._

_Big hugs,_

_Cormoran_

  
  


  
  



	7. Framing

**Chapter 7:**

In the morning, as Strike dropped the letter to Robin at the Post Office, Wardle called him saying he had investigated Matthew a little and apparently Robin's Insurance hadn't been modified yet, and if she died his name was in to inherit a good portion of Robin's small wealth. This would be nice, as Matthew had lost a lot of money with the divorce. He was also free that night, and his alibi was that he was having dinner home with his girlfriend Sarah Shadlock, which she had confirmed, but given that they both had a history as liars, they weren't gulping it much and Wardle had obtained a registry order for Matthew's home.

Matthew had played rugby and was a strong man, Strike knew, although not stronger than him, and Strike felt thrilled and exuberant as he waited for Wardle's phone-call saying Matthew had been arrested. Instead, he got one saying there was no evidence at the house to support he had done anything, and Matthew's hammer wasn't as big as the police had determined it'd have to be to cause such injury, and didn't have DNA on it. Matthew did, however, say he had lost a Bath University sweatshirt a few months before, and that it was recognizable because it had a ketchup stain near the neck.

This made Strike frown and sit at his new desk looking through the window but seeing only his thoughts, that were interrupted by a nock on the door and Jude's appearance.

“Cormoran, there's a Tom Turvey here who wants to talk to you. He says he's a friend of Robin.”

“Tom Turvey?” Strike looked confused. “Fine, let him in, thank you.”

A balding man who looked Strike's age came in and introduced himself politely before being invited to sit down, which he did.

“I'm here because I know Matthew Cunliffe hurt Robin,” said Tom. “And Robin's a good person. I want to help.”

“How'd you know?”

“He works at my Law Firm. When I heard about Robin, I doubted he had done it, it didn't seem right... but then, a few days ago, I was going to throw something at the containers by the office when I saw this almost coming out of it. A beggar must've been about to take it and dropped it for the blood... but I recognized it as Matthew's. And Sarah, his girlfriend, who was with me, agreed.”

Turvey took a backpack he was carrying, opened it, and pulled a plastic bag he handed to Strike. When Strike looked inside, he saw the Bath University sweatshirt, with blood and with what could be a ketchup stain by the neck. Along was a long hammer, clean.

“You were with Sarah Shadlock? How come?”

“Sarah was my fiancée,” Tom said full of resent. “We had a house together and banks accounts, tons of joined accounts... she came to sort out some paperwork, separating accounts, and the stupid arse gave me a paper that was wrong. We were standing right by the containers, so I went to throw it away and... I saw all of this. I bet you'll find Robin's DNA on it. It's Matthew's hammer, he lent it to me once. We were friends in Bath.”

“Uhm... I see...” Strike moved to get an evidence bag and plastic gloves and carefully manoeuvred the evidence into the bag. “Are you Robin's friend?” He was still thinking about Sarah. Why hadn't she come along?

“Not much... But I like Robin, she's always been nice... and we've suffered the same heartbreak. I want her attacker in prison. I grabbed those with gloves, so they're not full of my DNA, but there might be some, by the way. Sarah, as much of a bitch as she is, was smart enough to consider the police would think I did it, so I should come to you and not to them.”

“Thanks. One last thing, Tom, where were you—?”

Tom interrupted him.

“I was at work. I've been working like crazy to resolve a business fraud, I'm a lawyer. I was so shocked when I heard about Robin. Will she be okay?”

“Hopefully, yes. Tough girl.” Tom looked down with a guilty expression.

“I was a jackass... I knew Sarah was cheating, didn't know with whom... and I got drunk at the party and said something stupid to Robin. I shouldn't have. We weren't close but... I don't have many friends. Don't have time. And Robin, at least, was always kind to me, and respectful. Even that night I was a brat, she only complimented my shirt.”

Strike had to bring the evidence to Wardle, and as he was going out anyway, he decided to look around Parsons Green, see if he could find any evidence despite the time that had passed. He had done this a few times, but he was still hopeful. However his visit proved as useless as the ones before, and he soon found himself in a pub, while it snowed outside, drinking a pint and going over the thin folder of police evidence he had been given. All the police had found were footprints of dry blood, of a big size, and a broken leather bracelet that could belong to anyone. Strike then decided to phone Sarah and see whether she could meet him later at another pub. To his own surprise, she agreed.

“Hello, Sarah,” he said coldly, arriving after her.

“Cormoran, hi!” Sarah grinned, ogling him.

“I won't entertain you long,” Strike sat across her. “Tom Turvey came to see me. He says you were with him when he found the evidence he's given me, in the container, is this true?”

“Yes,” Sarah nodded. “It was terrible... so bloody! But I know how the cops work, if poor Tom went there and said he found that, they'd automatically arrest him. When they interrogated me, I knew they were looking for a man.”

“You told the police Matthew was with you the night Robin was attacked, right?”

“Right, we were having sex in his flat.” Strike rolled eyes and nodded.

“Could you tell me at which hour were you two home?”

“I got there at seven in the evening, Matt was there about half an hour later. We didn't leave the flat until morning, unless he left and did it all while I slept...” Robin had been hurt at around eight, so the alibi was solid, unless it was proven Matthew had left later on.

“Fine, and do you remember him talking about Robin's insurance?”

“Robin had an insurance?” she looked surprised. “That's odd, because once I was telling Matthew he should get one, when he was married, and he said neither of them could afford one. Robin must've used her own money and done it behind his back...”

“You intend to tell me Robin got an insurance without telling her husband, who's the main person to be benefited from it?”

“I'm sorry, Cormoran, but it's the truth. Look it up, Matthew hasn't one, and if Robin had gotten one he would've done it as well. I told him it was irresponsible of them when he told me neither Robin nor him had one, because what if something happened? The other would go bankrupt! Matthew's family would go bankrupt if they had to arrange his funeral and stuff, since Robin, I thought, didn't have the money. Matthew's mum had a life insurance, and it benefit them. Besides, Matthew and Robin wanted children, so I told him it'd be better for his children. Now, he's finally gotten one, thank God.”

None of it made any sense, but before leaving, Strike showed her the bracelet photograph.

“Is this familiar?”

“Of course, everyone's got one, Matt, my ex Tom... it was very trendy in uni.”

Strike nodded slowly, taking notes in his small notebook that he always carried with himself.

“Does Matthew have those?”

“Yeah, a couple. I think one broke a few months ago...”

“I see... And, did Matthew own a long hammer?”

“No, although he used to have one, but it fell and broke, so he got a smaller one. I remember, because I was there when the long one broke. It was moving boxes to the new house, one of them fell and... it was inside. Wasn't good quality. So I told Matt, why don't you get a tiny one? You don't use it anyway, and it weights less. And so he did, and with it we put the furniture of the new house together, I was there helping. So no, he didn't have the one they attacked Robin with, he told me police's asking about that.”

“How did Matthew take the divorce?”

“Oh, he was fine with it, he had me. I left Tom for Matt, he was furious about it, Matt and him were best friends, but I told him if he loved me he had to let me go, and Matthew was just glad he was free to love me, even if it meant losing Tom's friendship.”

Sarah seemed happy to talk, and Strike could imagine she'd be very happy being interviewed on TV. Some people were like that, feeling important with the questioning.

“Tom also said you recognized the sweatshirt as Matthew's, but not the hammer...”

“I did, yes. I live with him, where he used to live with Robin actually. We're looking for a better place.”

“So about the hammer...”

“I don't know, I don't think he hurt Robin even if the evidence points to him, you know? That's also why I wanted Tom to show you, because I knew you'd protect Matthew, you'd find the truth! Police could say someone lent him the hammer, I suppose... but they'd be wrong. You'll find the truth.”

As Strike enjoyed a take-out lunch later in his flat, he phoned Robin's house. Michael Ellacott answered, just the person he wanted to speak with.

“Hi, it's Cormoran, I was hoping to ask you something, Michael.”

“Oh, Cormoran, of course, shoot!”

“Have you got any idea whether Robin has a life insurance benefiting Matthew?”

“Uh... well, it was cancelled a month or two ago, but she had one. Yes, a few years ago, a family member who works at an insurance company offered to make us all insurances for a really good prize. We thought it'd be a good idea, 'cause the family's pretty big and humble, you see? And if anything happens, no one wants for the rest to have economical issues.”

“I see, yes,” Strike leaned back in his seat, his mind putting pieces together. “You won't happen to know whether Matthew knew about this, right?”

“He wouldn't. We promised not to tell anyone outside the family if they were benefited, because one sees TV shows, you know? And you know the main cause of murder between loved ones? The insurance money. Linda told Robin that it was better she wouldn't tell Matt, so she'd always know if he was with her was out of love and not for money.”

After asking about the family and saying that no, he didn't have time to talk with Robin in the moment, Strike hung up and sat thoughtful on his chair.

Matthew wouldn't know the existence of the insurance, so he wouldn't have a motive and, if he was to kill Robin, he would've done it before the divorce, before he lost so much money. The divorce had been so little before the attack, he could've done it. And Sarah didn't seem to be lying, Strike was more keen to believe just for once, she was being honest.

So why was Matthew's sweatshirt bloodstained with what would probably be proved to be Robin's blood? And why would he have two hammers? Unless he didn't. If Matthew was telling the truth and he only had one hammer -and Strike didn't see a reason why he'd have a large one, when he didn't seem like a handyman, unless he bought it just to kill Robin- and if Sarah was also being honest, someone had gone through long lengths to get another one and try to convince it was Matthew's. And that someone was Tom. Tom, who according to Sarah, also had a bracelet like the one found in the crime-scene, Tom, who had provided all the evidence, Tom, who had claimed he knew those objects to be Matthew's, and perhaps thought Matthew still owned the larger hammer. But why would Tom hurt Robin and point to Matthew?

That'd be framing. If he framed Matthew, and Matthew went down for attempted murder, he'd revenge on the man that stole his girlfriend, but at a very high cost. If he had killed Robin, he would've become a murderer just for revenge and he didn't seem like that type of guy. Tom had easy access to everything, as they worked together and he would've had to go to their house a lot, when Matthew was out, to finish paperwork with Sarah.

  
  



	8. Seeking evidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year ;)

**Chapter 8:**

When the blood on Matthew's sweatshirt was confirmed to be Robin's, and they found in his coat pocket a ticket for the shopping of the same model of hammer that had been used to hit Robin, and that contained her DNA as well, he was arrested.

“He insisted he didn't do it, that he had no idea where that ticket had come from or anything,” said Wardle on the phone when he was telling Strike the news. “He seemed very confused. But it's him, isn't it? It has to be him.”

Strike proceeded to tell him his suspicions about Tom, and Wardle wasn't too happy to hear Strike wasn't all in for their suspect, after having helped arrest Matthew, but Strike had to be honest. Wardle also thought the idea of Tom sounded a bit unconvincing, and Strike had to admit he needed more evidence. Surprisingly for him, Sarah Shadlock appeared at his office that same afternoon.

“Matt didn't do it,” Sarah said urgently. “He couldn't have! He was with me.”

“I know he didn't do it,” said Strike. Sarah then looked surprised and shocked.

“You know?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure I know who did it. Still getting more evidence though...”

“Who?”

“I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Sarah.”

He devoted the rest of the day to other cases, but in the morning, Strike went to visit Matthew's office. He wanted to see whether anyone had seen him put the objects of evidence in the container that was apparently used by most workers on a daily basis, for being right by the entry of the Law Firm. No one had seen this nor seen if other people had touched his coat while it was in the coats' closet by the entry, but there he found the receptionist, Nancy. She was a beautiful brunette with generous breasts and big eyes, and for a moment Strike lost focus because of this, but then he reacted.

“Excuse me,” said Strike. “I'm Detective Cormoran Strike. I'd like to ask you a few questions. Was Tom Turvey working here on the night of October 13th?”

“Yes,” she replied after typing for a moment in her computer. “We've got an automatised system, every employee puts in their password when they come in and when they go out, and the system saves their name and hour. Tom didn't leave until nine thirty. People here work crazy hours to solve cases, lawyers.”

“I see. And about Matthew—,”

“He didn't hurt Robin,” she said right away. “I know police thinks he did it, but he couldn't have!”

“Mind telling me why you're so sure?”

Nancy blushed hard and looked down, and Strike knew.

“Oh. He was sleeping with you.” She blushed harder, and looked at him with honest fear. “Hours?”

“You can't tell! If police thinks he cheated again, they'll have a worse opinion of him and things will get worse! We met at six, he didn't leave my flat until a quarter to ten... I know 'cause of a show I was watching.”

“Are you out of your mind, Nancy?” Strike looked baffled. “That's the one thing that will keep him out of prison! How long has he been with you?”

“Seven, eight months...” Nancy confessed in an embarrassed whisper. Strike felt himself get angry thinking Matthew had cheated on Robin with Nancy too. How many women had there been in his life? “I know it's horrible – he was sleeping with three women at once, if not more. But it's just sex for me, nothing else. He loved Robin.”

“That isn't love, Nancy.”

But as he walked to get the bus it all clicked in his head, but he needed more evidence. He'd have to prepare things very carefully. It was eleven in the morning. He received a phone-call from Sarah as he was cooking himself some lunch, back at his flat. Robin had texted him she'd be in London early afternoon for a medical check-up the following morning, and Strike had offered her his guest room, so she'd be coming in the train. He couldn't wait to see her and wasn't happy to see it was Sarah calling, and not Robin.

“Cormoran, would you come for tea this afternoon? Say at five. I'd like to show you something I've found, here at Matthew's house. You need to see it with your own eyes.”

“Can't you send me a picture?”

“No, I can't have that kind of photographs on my phone, what if police thinks I'm plotting something? No... come. At five. I live where Matt and Robin used to live.”

“All right.” Strike frowned. He'd have to leave Robin unattended for a bit.

His day improved dramatically when he went, around three, to pick Robin up at Kings Cross. She ran to him and jumped to his arms with such enthusiasm, he almost fell over, and he grinned, hugging her back.

“You look so healthy!” he complimented her as they separated to have a better look at each other. “Look at you! Your hair looks fantastic.”

Her hair had grown very quickly and now it looked a bit longer than a pixie cut, at jaw's length, and was brushed in a fiery way, so she looked like a lion. A gorgeous, sexy lion.

“Thank you! You look very nice too, are you hitting the gym?”

They chatted amicably and Strike enjoyed Robin's amazed reaction to the office and his flat, complimenting them all the way.

“Would you mind if I nap for a bit?” Robin asked shortly after they had arrived. “I get so tired...”

“No worries. Listen, I have to shower and get out, all right? I've got to interview someone, work. But I'll be right back to take you out for dinner, if you want.” Robin smiled.

“Sounds nice!”

“Great, there is a copy of the flat keys on the kitchen counter, so if you need to get out or whatever, you can. Now rest.”

When Strike was showered and dressed, he couldn't resist taking a peek into Robin's room. He couldn't help the smile that crept into his face as he observed the woman snuggled under the duvet forming a ball, while the snow hit the windows. He'd give anything to cuddle with her and forget about bloody Sarah Shadlock.

Unfortunately, he had to go. It took him a long time to reach the house that had once belonged to Robin and Matthew, and that now, as he was welcomed into it by Sarah, looked very different, colder, uglier, and without the charm Robin had put into it. He accepted a mug of black tea, his throat dry after the long trip, and he took a long sip right away.

“So what is it you wanted to show me?” Strike asked once his throat wasn't so uncomfortably dry anymore. He had a recorder working hidden in his pocket, and planned to use the occasion for more than one thing.

“Well, I actually just wanted to talk to you,” Sarah sat by him with a glass of water. “But I didn't want to do it over the phone,” Strike frowned. “You see, Cormoran, with Matthew in prison, I think police's listening to my phone-calls.”

“Matthew isn't in prison yet, just arrested,” Strike clarified. “What did you want to tell me?”

“I want to know who you think the attacker was,” said Sarah, as Strike took another sip. “Because I've been thinking and... I think it was Tom, to revenge on me, you see? Arrest the man I love... yeah. Sounds like Tom.”

“You think Tom would want to hurt Robin?” Strike asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. “They were friends.”

“Friends?” Sarah snorted a laugh. “No. Robin hated us both, any of Matthew's friends actually. She disliked spending time with us, it was obvious, but she put up with it so Matthew wouldn't throw a childish tantrum.” It surprised Strike to hear her speak of Matthew like that, recognising his tantrums as childish.

“So what do you think that happened?” asked Strike, amused, as he took another sip of his tea. It was good tea, he had to admit. As he expected, her ego-filled eyes brightened and she grinned, straightening in her seat. The detective wanted to hear _her_ opinion, oh, how important she was, how smart.

“I think Tom was very angry because Matthew and I were together, he felt betrayed, his best friend and fiancée, you know. So he went and stole Matthew's sweatshirt and bought a hammer like the one he remembered Matthew had, because they've known each other for years, how many times has Tom borrowed the hammer to put a furniture together, fix something around the house, and others? They were both using it like eight months ago or so, to fix one of Tom's bookshelves, that had broken and needed nailing. Tom was unaware it had broken and Matt no longer had it, which was his failure, and he probably followed Robin around for a few weeks, knowing where she worked and all. Robin would've never suspected of him. Tom could easily slid that hammer ticket into Matt's pocket, at work. I know it all because police informed Matthew when they arrested him and he told me. Then, Tom attacked her, put things in the container, as it is his office too, and blamed it on Matt, easy. If Matthew was arrested for murder, he'd be in prison for life, and I'd lose the love of my life, so he kills two birds in one shot.”

“That isn't a bad theory, actually,” Strike admitted, nodding. He was feeling a little light-headed with the excitement of catching a murderer. “But you see, it wasn't Tom. Tom was terribly lonely when you left him, and Robin was the only one who understood and treated him with kindness. He wouldn't have hurt her, and he's been trying to catch the murderer for her. The attacker didn't plan on Tom getting involved, because they underestimated how much affection Tom actually felt for Robin, they had no idea how it feels to be heartbroken and he emphasized with Robin the most, because it was her husband and his fiancée. Tom's also incapable of murdering someone, and he's got a solid alibi.”

“Oh, nonsense...”

“You know what pisses you off, Sarah? That it was you who tried to kill Robin.”

  
  



	9. Conniving bitch

**Chapter 9:**

“Me?” Sarah laughed. “Oh, come on! I couldn't have.”

“Your alibi is Matthew, except that Matthew can't be because he wasn't here either. From six to nine-thirty that evening, he was fucking their receptionist,” Strike smirked. Sarah had gone pale. “That's the mistake people do, trusting known-cheaters. Matthew needs to cheat to keep his ego straight. And you, you left work with time, and you had chances enough for weeks to steal his things and dress like a man, grabbing Matt's bracelet and dropping it there, so the witnesses thought the attacker was a man and so the bracelet was found. No one was looking for a woman. You followed Robin, and at eight, you tried to kill her. Tom was at work until late that day, they keep a registry, you know? Automatized, can't cheat easily and I'm sure when police checks the cameras they'll confirm his alibi. You work at an auction house, Christie's, isn't it? They close at three every day, giving you time to spare. Matthew wouldn't have been home until late, Saturday night, traffic, difficult commuting... When he arrived, he found you, who had had time to get back. When Matt heard Robin had been attacked, you told him they'd come for him, didn't you? Because you sorted it out that way, as later you'd put the evidence in the container and manage it so Tom would find it, and you hoped he'd point me to Matthew, because you would've been too suspicious, you had to play the part and defend him,” Strike was feeling dizzy, but he didn't relent. “His cheating worked-out in your favour. You probably thought you could convince him to give you an alibi anyway, but with him not having been home, as you knew, the cheating worked in your favour and you thought once his alibi broke, at the right time, and he was arrested, the amount of evidence against him would be such, you lacking an alibi wouldn't matter. I don't know if you knew he had cheated, but I suspect you knew, because it has been going on for a long time and who sees the signs better than a cheater, uh? So you made him fear police would arrest him unless he confessed he cheated, and you knew he wouldn't confess, he hadn't done so with Robin, not once, despite all the evidence against him. So you made a deal. He said you had been home with her, and you'd say he had been there with you. Except that you didn't imagine Nancy would tell me the truth, because she'd get a whorish reputation and could lose her job for sexing her boss. But, she likes Matthew, she doesn't want him going to prison, even if it costs her, her job.”

“That is ridiculous, what do I earn?”

“You convinced Matthew to make an insurance, I bet if he's put away for murder, you get benefited generously from it, don't you? Enough money to retire and get a nice house. Matthew, however, had no motive with Robin, unless he had done so before the divorce, when he would actually earn something, because Robin's family convinced her not to tell Matt about her insurance. They gave the clue. The number one reason for partners to commit serious offence towards one another is insurance money. Besides, I think you knew he cheated, so framing him was revenge.”

“You've got no evidence...”

“That's where, again, you're wrong. You have no alibi, you had access to the objects used, Robin remembers the sweatshirt, you knew the whole hammer history, you knew Matthew's work schedule to frame him, you dislike Robin, Tom will say in court how much of a manipulative bitch you are, and I see you've got quite big feet, rather manly... police will find Robin's DNA on them and yours in Matthew's sweatshirt, which with the washing of clothes couldn't have been unless you had worn it that night. How long will it take the police, you think, to find a CCTV footage from here to Tom and Matthew's Law Firm, in which you appear carrying a rubbish bag with the sweatshirt and the hammer? And let's not forget it was you who put Tom in place to find the evidence.” Strike's vision had gone blurry, and he panicked a little. Was he going to get sick now? “There's more... Robin knows you. That's why she didn't immediately attack you, she stopped to chat, didn't she? You stopped her. And she isn't afraid of you, her guard was down. I bet she turned to leave, sick of you as she is, and you attacked her from behind, coinciding with the injuries. One strong, determined hit, with that hammer Tom found, and you wouldn't need to be too strong. Besides, the people at the shop where the hammer was bought will recognize your picture.”

“Doesn't matter,” Sarah stood up, livid, but suddenly she smiled. “You're not so smart, you know? The tea was poisoned. In a few hours, you'll be dead.”

Strike clenched his jaw.

“When I die, police will put all the puzzle together. Robin's at my flat and I left a note on the kitchen counter saying I'd be here, so she'd know you did it, if she hasn't remembered already, because she's been having flashbacks all month.”

There was a hard knock on the door.

“London police, open up!” Vanessa's voice roared. “Or I'll force my way in!”

Strike smiled seeing Sarah's panicked expression, as his eyelids started to feel heavy and he started to feel breathless.

“You underestimated how much people like Robin... she's got friend in the police. Good ones...”

They heard the locket being shot and the main door flew open. Strike saw Vanessa, followed by Robin and a cop. The police pointed guns at Vanessa.

“Hands up! You're arrested for the attempted murder of Robin Ellacott and for obstruction to justice!” Vanessa shouted.

“Cormoran, you're okay!” Robin grinned at him. Strike managed a drowsy smile, and suddenly it all went black.


	10. Longing

**Chapter 10:**

“Cormoran... Cormoran, wake up...” a soft voice was calling his name and Strike felt the gentle patting against his cheek.

“Mummy...” Strike murmured. His eyelids were so heavy, but he wanted to open them so desperately to see his mother. Only she could speak his name with such care and affection, only her hands could be so soft. “Mummy...”

He opened his eyes and wasn't met with his mother, but with Robin's soft smile, as she caressed his cheek. He was on a bed of a large room full of beds, in a hospital, and shirtless, covered with a hospital sheet.

“Hi,” Robin, standing by his bed, passed a hand through his unruly curls, that were surprisingly soft. “You scared me. How're you feeling?”

“'M 'kay,” Strike attempted to sit-up and the room moved a little, so he leaned back against the pillows. “What happened?” His prosthesis had been removed and Strike saw it lied on the bed unattached to his stump.

“You caught Sarah Shadlock, she attacked me and she suspected you had caught her, so she poisoned your tea. She didn't have in count that given your size, she needed a bigger amount of poison for it to act quickly, and since I had suspected she'd hurt you and we had already called the ambulance, you were attended so fast, it was nothing. The effect was like a hard dose of Lorazepam, they gave you an antidote and some adrenaline and you've only been asleep for a couple hours. The doctor said once you woke-up, you could go home. Vanessa will take us, she's just speaking with the doctor to get paperwork for court, to prove Sarah's actually tried to kill two people.”

Strike nodded slowly, then looked up at Robin. She was so pretty with her hair short and wavy, and she looked at him with such affection he almost blushed.

“How did you suspect...?”

“Because I've kept having flashbacks, each clearer than the last, and while I was taking a nap, I saw her clearly. I phoned you, but you didn't pick-up,” Robin pulled his phone from her pocket, and waved it showing it had no battery. “So I saw your note, and realized you had gone straight to the wolf, and thought she had hurt you and hence you not picking-up, so I phoned Vanessa and we went to you as fast as we could.”

“You are incredible, Robin,” Strike shook his head slowly, his lips forming a slight 'oh', still a bit out of it, baffled, and she giggled.

“Always that air of surprise, what are partners for, uh?” Strike's eyes widened but before he could say anything, Vanessa and the doctor appeared.

“There he is, you gave us quite the scare!” Vanessa smiled warmly at him.

The doctor gave Strike one last check-up and determined he was as healthy as a smoker could be, and Strike was left behind the curtain to put his shirt and jumper on and his leg. Robin handed him his large grey coat and scarf, and the trio went out to the blizzard and into Vanessa's car. With the snow it took them twice the time to get back to Rathbone Street, and Strike took yet another nap, filling the car with snoring for solid half an hour before they arrived. Thanking Vanessa profusely, Robin helped Strike out of the car and up to his flat. She had to take the keys from him, as he was fumbling with them, but they were finally in, once that Robin opened-up. Checking his watch, Strike saw it was ten past.

“I was going to take you out for dinner...”

“It's fine,” Robin was comprehensive and she was already taking off her coat. “It's freezing outside, anyway. I'll make dinner.”

“You'll make what?” but Robin had already immersed herself in kitchen duties with determination. Strike looked surprised she'd remember some receipt, although he figured in the over a month she had been in Masham she must've learnt some.

Strike changed into comfortable pyjamas, just a t-shirt, a jumper and trousers, and turned on the heater, stuffing his feet into his slippers. He lowered the blinds, threw the curtains close, and opened all doors so the heat would flow and warm the entire flat, and joined Robin in the kitchen, where she had already poured him a Doom Bar, which she offered him as she cooked some pork steaks, pouring some wine on them. It smelled deliciously.

“I didn't remember having anything,” said Strike looking into his fridge with raised eyebrows.

“I brought things from Masham,” Robin said. “I know you're always eating take-out, and I figured I could cook as a thank you for letting me stay.”

“You know I'm always eating take-out,” Strike repeated, staring at her, baffled. “Always that air of surprise...” Robin smirked, looking at the meat she was cooking as the flipped it. “Oh my God. Oh, you remember me! You remember!”

“Sort of,” Robin grinned, looking at him. “I remember coming to Denmark and that you almost threw me down the stairs,” Strike chuckled, “I remember wrapping my coat around your arm one time it was bleeding for some reason, I remember driving with you giving me a sweet to the mouth, and laughing with you, and chatting, and drinking tea together, and helping you walk, and sitting around a hospital bed with you, watching as a little boy slept, with you squeezing my hand. And I remember...” she let out a breath, and smiled softly, her eyes lost. “Hugging you at the stairs, wearing my wedding dress. I remember working and loving it, and how passionate we've been about our job. I remember being very happy thinking of dinner with you, Nick, Ilsa and Estella, and seeing Sarah. And there are sad, difficult memories,” she put the meat on a plate on the counter. “But there's so much happiness as well. And lots of it, with you. And of course, I remember you don't have time to cook.”

Strike stared at her with eyes bright with emotion, and suddenly his arms were around her and he was hugging her close. Robin hugged her back, and then she felt, more than heard, that he was crying, fighting with himself to restrain himself and holding onto her with strength.

“Oh Cormoran, don't cry...” Robin felt emotional, hearing him sob, and buried her face against his clavicle, trying not to cry too.

“You're here,” Strike murmured hoarsely. “You're back. I missed you so much.”

“Come on,” Robin separated, rubbing her eyes. “Eat.”

They sat on the sofa eating with their feet on the coffee table and watching the night news before Robin bid him goodnight with a kiss on the cheek. Strike cleaned the dishes and before going to bed, he quietly looked into Robin's room. Once again, she was snuggled-up and slept peacefully, and Strike could only grin to himself. She was back.

  
  



	11. Pairs

**Chapter 11:**

[A/N: I imagine Robin's hair is now like this: http://www4.pictures.stylebistro.com/gi/Bel+Ami+Premiere+62nd+Berlinale+International+_yv6oXM3-A-l.jpg.]

Strike was snoring away in the car, inside the hospital's parking lot, when Robin came back. He jumped in his seat, startled, when she opened the door and slid in the copilot seat, and she laughed softly, while he smiled and greeted her with a sleepy 'Hi...'.

“It's all great,” Robin replied to Strike's question as they exited the parking lot. “There's no swelling anymore, no sign of infection, I have a better neuronal functioning... I'm still not that good with directions and orientation, I don't have the focusing capacities or energy I used to have and my taste with alimentation has changed a little, and there's still some amnesia, confusion and headaches, but the doctor said not to rush it and that he expects a pretty good recovery, at least 80% of what I was.”

“Awesome!” Strike grinned, reaching to squeeze her hand briefly on impulse, a short-lived one that made his ears combust in redness and Robin's cheeks blush. “So how long are you staying?”

“I was hoping not to leave, actually,” said Robin, looking at Strike, who was surprised. “I thought perhaps Estella hasn't found a new flatmate yet. And I was hoping you wouldn't mind taking me back on the job and re-teaching me. The farm's great but... I don't think I am a farmer, Cormoran.”

“Of course not,” Strike beamed. “You're a detective! I'll refresh your memory and you'll see, this is going to be great! Strike & Ellacott back in the game! We'll be like Starsky & Hutch, Batman and Robin, Holmes and Watson, Tom and Jerry...”

“all right I get it,” Robin laughed. Strike couldn't stop smiling, like a child. “We are better than all of them, though. Strike and Ellacott.”

“Damn right!”

Robin smiled warmly.

“Are we on time?”

“Yeah, no worries.” They were going to visit Matthew in his house, before Robin and his, now that he was out of jail, due to Robin's insistence that they'd check on him.

A few minutes later, Strike pulled his thirteen-year-old BMW into a parking space and they got out of the car. Robin walked the familiar path to the house in which they had just been the night before, and pushed the doorbell.

“Who is it?” Matthew's voice came from inside.

“Robin and Cormoran,” Robin replied elevating her voice. Matthew opened the door.

He looked to have aged during his very brief time in jail, and had deep bags under his bloodshot eyes and looked exhausted. He eyed them with a light frown.

“Robin,” Matthew murmured. “I heard about your head. How's it doing?”

“It's better, slow progress,” Robin nodded. “I remember you now, at least bits of you. I wanted to say I'm sorry about everything that's happened to you and... well, I truly do hope things get better for you. I'm glad they let you come back home.”

Matthew nodded, and then sighed, shrugging a little.

“It must be karma, isn't it? All I did to you, sleeping with my mate's fiancée, then going and cheating on Sarah...” he shook his head. “I've been a royal brat and I finally got the punch I deserve. It's me who should apologize, Robin, you've been too good... you've always been incredible to me. I don't know how much you can remember, but for all the years we were together,” Strike stood by the car, staring at them meters behind Robin, “you were always kind, and sweet, and loving. I shouldn't have been unfaithful, no matter how much things went south, and you got hurt because someone wanted to hurt me, and you got such a huge thing...” he shook his head. “I swear if I could go back and prevent it from happening, I would. It's terrible, what she did to you, and totally undeserved.”

“Thanks,” Robin nodded, smiling small.

“Can I ask you something? It's probably crossing ten lines but...” Matthew looked at her and bit his lip a little.

“No problem, ask away.”

Matthew looked at Strike tentatively over her shoulder and she turned a little to see where he was looking.

“Did you ever... have a crush on him or something, when we were still together? Did you want something to happen with him?” she looked baffled, and he shook his head. “Of course, you wouldn't even remember, I'm sorry...”

“No, I do remember that much. Matthew, I...” Robin puffed. “I never wanted anyone but you, for as long as we were together, and I loved you until about the time we married and I found out everything you had done and realized I didn't love you anymore, but I stayed because I didn't want you to suffer and somehow, it seemed like the best option. Cormoran and I... we're friends. And as wonderful as he is, I would've never cheated, and I never tried anything, and I never once fantasized with getting with him. I just wanted you. And now,” she shrugged, “I want to be on my own and recover, and Cormoran's my right hand. He's invaluable to me, and I wouldn't want to lose it for anything in the world. If it wasn't for him... I don't know what would've been of me many times. I wouldn't be here.”

Matthew nodded.

“I'm sorry I... had to ask.”

“Did you ever love me?” Robin asked suddenly. She had to know. “Or did you just... love Sarah?”

“I loved you, Robin, that is true. I just don't think I was ever very sure what real love is. At first you were just... well, we were teenagers. I didn't expect much of it. But over the years... I wanted to spend my life with you, and I loved you in my own weird, stupid way, and probably not deeply enough, but as much as I've ever loved anyone,” Matthew said. “Then I just... I think Cormoran's presence made me so insecure. And I actually have needed therapy for this, because I couldn't see it,” Robin frowned, surprised. “I was afraid you were going to leave me, and you made me feel better than I saw myself, I was so insecure, with such a low self-esteem... and you rose it up, which you shouldn't have had to do. So when you stopped admiring just me, I started wanting for someone else to admire me. That's all that cheating is about. Cheating is... it's not right, I know that. It's awful. But everyone who does it, does it because they love having someone drool after them with the passion of a relationship's first days. You did psychology, you probably know way better than I do... and it's not an excuse, I know that, I'm just saying that I never did it to hurt you. I never wanted you to know and be hurt. I only did it to feel better myself, selfishly. And I never cared about Sarah or anyone else... I just cared that they'd made me feel great. That they'd admire me and drool after me and feed my ego, which one should never do for anyone, it's toxic, I know. And when we divorced, I considered since the bomb was going to blow that I had been fooling around with Sarah for years, I better start a relationship with her and try to make it worth it, even if I didn't love her. It just felt it was the only way to make-up for the pain I put you or Tom through.”

Robin was very surprised with his confession, and very happy with it. She looked into his hazel eyes, and thought she saw real guilt and shame, the same she had seen the first time she found out he had cheated on her, and knew he was being honest. She could feel him.

“Thank you. I needed the closure,” Robin said.

“Me too. Thanks for everything, Robin.” He managed a small smile at her, and somehow, she hugged him briefly. He was surprised, but hugged her back. “You're so sweet. I wish you the very best, Robin. And if he's the one you're supposed to be with...” he looked at Strike again. “Then I hope he better is the best life partner. You deserve no less.”

“Thanks. We'll see,” Robin smiled, taking one step back. “Good luck.”

“You too. And thank Strike for me as well.”

Robin went back to Strike and Matthew closed the door. Strike was smoking a fag with his arse on the BMW's bonnet, and he immediately stood-up straight and threw the fag to the ground, stepping on it.

“How did it go?” Strike asked. Robin looked at the closed door and smiled a little, nodding.

“Closure. He says thank you, by the way,” Robin replied. Strike nodded, and they got in the car. “It was great. Now I'm ready to celebrate our long-eclipsed birthdays, shall we?”

“We shall,” Strike smiled looking proudly at her.

Now in January, it was finally time to reunite again with their friends for what they had asked to be just a quiet dinner with the closest friends, and celebrate the birthday that never got to be celebrated and the one that Strike had simply passed from to find out who had hurt Robin so badly. It was Friday night, and Lucy had organised it all at her place, and she'd made a big cake so they could put two different amount of candles in each side, separated by what in pictures Strike had seen was a line of chocolate chips. They would also celebrate Robin was ready to get back on the road, three months post injury.

  
  



	12. Memory search

**Chapter 12:**

“Remember Lucy and Greg's house?” Strike asked as they got out of the car into the cold, snowed-in street. Robin's face was half hidden in her scarf, and it was dark, but the lamp posts illuminated the magnolia tree in front of Lucy's garden.

“Have I been here before?” Robin asked with a light frown, her voice muffled by the scarf. Strike suddenly realised she actually hadn't.

“Oh, right, you haven't! Well then welcome to Lucy and Greg's. The boy you remember in a hospital bed,” he said as they walked, Robin hugging his arm for warmth. “Is Jack, my middle nephew, and that was on July, when his appendix burst while his parents were in Italy celebrating their anniversary.”

“Oh no!”

“Yeah, he worships me and adores you. We've gone together to the Imperial War Museum after that. He's ten in three months. William, his older brother, is twelve this summer, and the littlest, Oliver, just turned seven, only days ago, so remember to say happy birthday.”

“All right, good,” Robin nodded. “I don't quite remember them if I'm honest.” She added as they approached the house.

“It's fine, they know your memory's hurt. Jack's the one who looks the most like me, dark-haired and all, William is super tall and blonde, and Oliver is little and with his mother's eyes, you'll see.”

“Got it.”

“They'll probably be in bed anyway. It's kind of late, we must be the last ones, with the damn traffic and driving all through London... but it's all right. No worries.”

Strike pushed the doorbell and Robin separated from him just in time, as the door opened and Lucy appeared, beautiful in her party dress and grinning.

“Oh hello! Come in, quick, it's so cold!”

Strike and Robin rushed in and Strike kissed Lucy's cheek. She was short, blonde and looked nothing like Strike, not in the very slightest.

“Robin, it's been so long! Can I hug you?”

“Sure, I remember you now,” Robin smiled, accepting a tight hug. “Didn't you use to come into the office to chat? Didn't we laugh comparing men?”

“Ah, that's a good memory!” Lucy chuckled. “Your hair looks wonderful, Gosh. How's it going?”

“It's better now, thanks. How're the boys?”

“Being disobedient, let me tell you. They insist on not going to bed until they've seen you, they were so worried when we told them you were hurt.”

Strike followed the women inside and not three steps in, the three boys sprung to hug Robin, who was surprised, but hugged back. Jack did look familiar, but Robin wasn't sure if it was because his hair was dark and curly like Strike's, but a bit nicer looking.

“Many happy returns, Oliver, I hear it was just your birthday?” Oliver beamed at Robin.

“Yes!”

“This is for you, birthday boy,” Strike handed him a small package from his pocket. Robin smiled seeing he had written on the envelope 'From Robin & Uncle Corm, happy birthday' even though she had no idea he had bought a present. Oliver pretty much ripped the package open and saw it was a pair of walkie-talkies. He chuckled and thanked them profusely.

“Also, happy birthday Robin,” Jack handed her a paper sheet he had been holding and Robin almost cried looking at it. She could clearly make-out it was Jack, Strike and Robin, in front of a building that had 'Imperial War Museum' written in capital letters, all smiley. Below the drawing, Jack had scribbled 'Hope you feel better soon. Jack xoxo'.

“God, Jack, this is incredible, thank you very much! I'll make your uncle let me put it on the office wall so we can see it all the time,” Robin hugged him, truly grateful.

“What is it?” Strike looked and he smiled as well. “Oh, aren't you an artist?” He had been trying really hard to grow a close relationship with his nephews for the past few months.

Lucy, who had been observing the exchange, looked ready to cry and ran with the excuse of helping Greg get the turkey out of the oven. Strike guided Robin into the sitting room and they were effusively greeted by Ilsa, who'd be seven months pregnant in a few weeks and was looking enormous and with difficulties to move, but beamed hugging Robin, and Nick, her husband, Estella, Vanessa Ekwensi, Eric Wardle, and Eric's wife April Wardle. Sam and Andy, Strike knew, where on very deserved holidays outside of London, as they had been working extra since Robin had gotten hurt. Robin was then introduced to Greg, who had only 'heard wonders about her', as he hadn't been able to visit in the hospital so he could take care of the boys while Lucy, who did know her, could visit, and they moved into the dinning room, as everyone was hungry. The boys were sent straight to bed, and the ten adults sat around the table.

“How was Masham, Robin?” Ilsa asked as they passed sauce to each other, rotating so everyone could pour themselves some on their pieces of turkey.

“It was lovely. Some places sounded vaguely familiar, and my brothers had some anecdotes I get why my brain would erase them,” Robin joked with a smirk. “But my family's farm and the animals are lovely, just incredibly cold up there. Freezing, all December.”

“At least you were surrounded by breweries,” Strike pointed out, teasing, as he poured wine on her glass. Robin chuckled, and shook her head.

“And how's the pregnancy going?” Robin asked. “Since, you know, I remember nothing of it.”

“Well I'm not sure I ever got to inform you actually. We were shutting up until I was big as a cow because it felt as if talking about it would jinx it, and we've been trying since you were a teen,” Ilsa commented joyfully. “But it's great, almost seven months now, triplets, so we're overjoyed.” Nick grinned at her, nodding.

“Triplets?” Robin's mouth formed an 'oh' and her eyes widened. “That's a lot at once!”

“We're not about to complain, after how hard it's been. But it's what happens when you accumulate fertility treatments,” Nick commented. “Amelia, Emily and Bruno. We're over the moon.”

“Understandably. Well, congrats,” Robin said, happy to see them so excited.

“I can't wait for your faces in five months when you're begging me to babysit,” Strike joked teasing.

“Don't you have children, Eric?” asked Robin, curious and taking advantage of her amnesia to ask questions that would otherwise count as prying to much.

“Oh, no,” April answered instead. “We've got a dog, and that's enough.”

“We want to have maybe one,” said Eric. “But not in the near future. We're not much older than you!” he added with a smirk. “We wouldn't mind not to have none though, we're good.”

“Just like old Corm, uh?” Greg commented. “Never wanted a kid.”

“Really?” Robin looked surprised at Strike.

“Uh...” Strike shrugged. “I've never felt very attracted to the idea of fatherhood, being honest.”

“I think you'd be a great Dad. You're kind of a big protective bear, and Jack at least is a fan,” Robin curved her lips into a tiny smile and Strike smiled back, touched. She had a bit of sauce in her lip, which made him tempted to kiss them.

“Well, we love going to concerts and having a bit of an active night life,” April commented. “Children don't fit well with that.”

“That is right, truth be told,” Lucy nodded.

“Hey Estella, did you find a new flatmate?” Robin asked then, remembering her interest.

“Well, no, but now I'm being paid pretty nicely, so I can afford it,” Estella shrugged. “Why, you'd move back?”

“I was thinking of it, yeah.”

“Woah!” Vanessa looked at Robin, surprised. “That's quite good news! What changed your mind?”

“Remembering some things,” Robin replied. “I've gotten to the understatement that somehow, London's my home. Masham is great, but trying to stick there felt like trying to fit a bear in a fish bowl or something, it was just... not entirely right for something permanent. Masham's a great holiday place though. Besides, I'm sick of being immersed in a world I should know like the back of my hand and seeing the disappointment when people realize things they had hoped I'd remember, because I spent twenty-five years there after all, are just inexistent in my brain. Besides, I'm twenty-eight, I can't depend on my family's kindness, I have to find my own thing.”

“Well I'll be happy to have you back,” Estella said cheerfully.

“And you shall not worry about money,” said Strike. “I guarantee you'll be well-paid.” Robin smiled.

“I still don't know how much is being decently-paid,” Robin reminded him.

“Just don't settle with anything below twenty five thousand annually,” Ilsa advised with a playful smile.

“Oh, shut up, she makes more than that,” Strike commented with a side smirk. “Two pence more.” He added jokingly, making them laugh.

They continued chatting animatedly as they dinned, and Strike was having such a good time he couldn't believe he was still at his sister's house. Robin was laughing and cracking jokes, and all the guests seemed happy to be there, despite how little they knew each other, like Wardle and Vanessa, who didn't know Ilsa and Nick, nor Estella, more than from coinciding visiting Robin at the hospital.

“So this woman you've caught now,” Lucy asked eventually. “What did she have to do with Robin?”

“Uhm...” Robin looked at Strike. “I actually don't quite remember her much. I only remember she attacked me, Cormoran knows best.”

“I only know what you've told me in the past,” Strike said. “Apparently, Sarah was Robin's ex-husband's friend in university. He cheated on Robin with him in university, and she only found-out a couple years ago before the wedding, so she left him and eventually went back to marry. By that point. Sarah was still in their lives and was a close friend of Matthew with whom they often went out for dinner and Robin didn't stand her one bit.”

“Good instinct,” Vanessa pointed out. Strike nodded. “And you also told me, Robin, that he and she had lunch together all the time, and he got all jealous with you and all pissed off because of the time you spent with Cormoran, but he got pissed whenever you pointed out how much time he and Sarah spent together.” Both Strike and Robin raised eyebrows in surprise and looked at each other briefly.

“If those things were happening now I would certainly do that,” said Robin. “I do remember arguing with Matthew, but I could never quite understand why... now that makes more sense.”

“In any case, Sarah's stuck along all this time, and eventually last summer Robin found out that he was still cheating with her.” Strike continued.

“Bloody bastard,” Lucy shook her head.

“Some lads have zero respect,” Wardle sighed. “We see it in work all the time.”

“And then you came to live with me, briefly,” said Vanessa.

“Yeah, I remember that. And I remember moving in with Nick and Ilsa.”

“Surely,” Nick smiled.

“And then as you settled your divorce, Sarah and Matthew got serious,” Strike continued.

“But that doesn't explain Sarah hurting her, she had what she wanted, no need to kill her, right?” Estella inquired.

“Sarah didn't want Robin dead for her own joy. Matthew had gotten a promotion over the summer, and now he was making good money and Sarah forced him to get a life insurance. She thought, if she killed Robin, thus removing someone she didn't quite like off the picture, she could frame Matthew for it. She contacted me multiple times, defending him but then giving information that would lead to him, and orchestrating things so Tom Turvey, her ex-fiancée, found the evidence pointing to Matthew, because she had to play the part of protective girlfriend, but she knew Tom was angry with him enough, because he slept with his girl and they were besties, to go against him and convince me, which for a moment he managed, that it had been Matthew. That was, until Michael, Robin's Dad, explained to me that Matthew didn't know Robin had a life insurance back then, so he didn't have a motive. It didn't make sense that Matthew had done it, because if he were to kill her, it would've been before losing a bunch of money with the divorce deal, when they were still married and he could get all the money.”

Wardle and Vanessa, always fascinated with Strike's detective skills more than envious, listened closely as everyone ate dessert.

“So then I thought Tom had done it, but as Eric pointed out, the theory seemed quite forced, it didn't quite fit,” Strike admitted humble. “That left it to Sarah, but there was no evidence nor reason. She had given Matthew and herself an alibi. But then, an employee of Matthew told me he had been cheating on Sarah for a very long time, sleeping with her, even while married, so he had also cheated on Robin with her.”

“Oh God I can't believe I didn't get AIDS,” Robin looked disgusted, thinking she had been having sex with her husband, whose dick had been in God knew how many women.

“Don't worry you two barely had sex,” Vanessa winked at her and Robin smiled grateful.

“So what had happened?” Lucy asked full of curiosity. Robin was reminded of Strike's own curiosity. At least in that they were alike.

“Well, long story short... On the 13th, Sarah left work at three and got home, that's about five hours before the attack,” said Strike. “She lied and said she wasn't home until seven, but Eric and Vanessa already found evidence, between witnesses and CCTV, that she arrived home at around four. According to Sarah, Matthew arrived at half past seven, and they had sex and dinner and where together all day, providing a good alibi for them both, but Matthew's employee told me Matthew had gone to her house at six and they had sex and dinned and Matthew left very late at night, when she was watching a TV show, so she could tell the time accurately. That means Matthew was with her when Robin was attacked.”

“And again we found enough CCTV to prove it. London's full of cameras,” Wardle added and Strike nodded in agreement.

“Meanwhile, Tom was working until past the attack, the office registry proves it,” said Strike. “But Sarah has no alibi. She left home, went to Robin, she was most likely following her for a while, new her routine. Robin had been on the job that took her to Fulham for weeks, always same hours. And she attacked Robin. If Robin died and she framed Matthew successfully, Sarah, who had convinced him to get a life insurance, would earn a ton of money plus get rid of Robin, with whom she didn't get along.”

“But how did she plan to frame Matthew, if she was giving him an alibi?” Ilsa questioned.

“At first I didn't see that either,” Strike confessed. “But this is how she did it. With time in advance, this was long premeditated, she bought the weapon, a large hammer. The sellers remember her and the shop's security cameras show her buying it. She took the ticket and put it in Matthew's pocket. Then, she stole his sweatshirt, whose disappearance he noticed, but he must've thought it was just in some box or something. She wore it to hurt Robin, to frame him and to look like a man, as it's a biggie one, and she also dropped one of Matthew's bracelets at the crime scene, to point to him. She put Tom in the perfect position to find sweatshirt and hammer over a month later, and commented the sweatshirt was like one of Matthew's, and as he was pissed at him, it wasn't hard for him to self-convince it was Matthew, and then she told him to come to me so police wouldn't suspect of him. Sarah thought when the evidence pointed so strongly to Matthew, they would just arrest him, and when she was asked why she had lied to give him an alibi, she'll just play the tragic girlfriend, shed some tears and say she didn't want to believe he had done it. The fact that she lacked an alibi wouldn't have mattered anymore.”

  
  



	13. Already loved

**Chapter 13:**

“Welcome!” Strike smiled opening the office's main door for Robin before she could lift her hand to open the door herself. She looked surprised and her lips curved upwards upon his sight. She had taken a couple days to settle back at Estella's, and now she was ready to start learning to work again.

“Hi,” Robin came in and looked at Raven, offering a hand. “Hello, I'm Robin.”

“We've met,” Raven chuckled, shaking her hand. “Raven. Don't worry sweetie, we all already love you here.”

Robin smiled warmly, blushed, and Strike occupied himself offering her a mug of tea and guiding her into Robin's brand new office. It was all set. There was a desk, chairs, a bookshelf with old investigation books that Strike had read either from the army or from Uncle Ted, and from which he had learnt. Strike pointed to them and explained what they were, and Robin was flattered.

“For me?”

“I figured you'd love them. I've never really given you anything,” Strike said. “Now, let's sit down, we'll use old, resolved cases, that you don't remember, and you'll try to get to the resolution of them.”

They spent the next couple hours reminding Robin how to write down and organize evidence and case information, how to store things in the filing cabinet, examine pictures, and put evidence together to get to the case resolution. Strike showed her evidence in order, and as she put it together with his help, she'd access to more information and evidence, so she could resolve the case. By the time lunch arrived, Robin had managed it successfully. Strike had put it easy for her and had helped her greatly, as he didn't want to overwork her. They had needed plenty of pauses before she got headaches, and breaks in which Strike would try to distract her brain talking about meaningless things to relax her when he noticed she was losing concentration and burning neurons, but she didn't complain and in the end, her satisfied smile was worth it all.

“I did it!” Robin beamed. “This was so fun!”

“We made it like a game,” Strike looked at her proudly. “You're a natural, Robin. These kinds of investigations can take two, three days. The hardest ones, can take up to months. We'll raise the bar slowly weekly, so you have time enough to practice, this is a matter of repetition in many cases. But don't overdo yourself, okay? I don't want that golden brain falling on its arse.”

“Thank you so much, Cormoran,” Robin felt her chest so full of appreciation for him. “You've lost an entire morning of work just to help me with this, and you've been so patient...”

“I haven't lost anything. This is an investment. I've been working all day, trying to get my best friend back in our business, which in the long run, while give this agency more benefit than I can put into numbers,” Strike affirmed, standing up. “That without mentioning that it makes me happy to see you so happy. Did you like it then? Is this still an interesting job? This was a rather boring case...”

“No, I loved it! The mystery, the brainstorming, the puzzle... Actually, my doctor recommended me actual puzzles, so I've been doing tons of them... I guess I just like fitting things together.”

“And you're incredibly good at it. Come on, I'll take you to The Tottenham and we'll celebrate with lunch, I invite!”

One of the perks of the new office was that it was, at most, five minutes from the office, walking to Oxford Street. In the way, they talked about Robin's new living arrangements and how well she was adapting to things, and Strike was glad to see she looked more like herself. Every time he caught sight of the side of head where her hair parted a little, where the scar was, his stomach knotted a little, but then he looked at her eyes and beaming smile, seeing her so cheerful, and forgot why his stomach was knotted.

“Uhm...” Robin stopped him as they entered, looking suddenly serious. “Actually, Cormoran... this place is very loud, even worse than the avenue... I'm sorry... I can't...” she looked down a little, and Strike put an arm around her shoulders and guided her outside.

“Don't worry,” Strike smiled at her. “You're right. The avenue's full of noise already, and I take you to The Tottenham, seems crazy that I'm a detective sometimes. Tell you what, we'll go up to my flat where is nice and quiet, and I'll cook us some home-made.” Robin looked glad and relieved.

“Are you sure you don't mind?”

“All I want is to see that smile back in place. Come on, let's make our stomachs happy-hoopey.”

“Happy-hoopey?” Robin smirked.

“Shut up...” Strike side smiled nevertheless and guided her back to their building.

Strike wound-up cooking pasta, and Robin told him she actually loved pasta when he apologized for not having more stuff, so it worked just fine for both of them and soon they sat around his tiny round table, enjoying the meal.

“So...” Robin said, observing him amused as he devoured his food with abandon. “What's about you these days? Any girlfriends?” she raised eyebrows suggestively, and almost laughed when he almost chocked and coughed at the unexpected question.

“No, no,” Strike cleaned his mouth with a napkin. “I had Lorelei but I left her months ago... around the same time you left Matthew actually, same weekend.”

“Oh...”

“It's fine, I left her because I just wanted her for sex and decided it was time to end it. Yeah I know, I'm a bastard,” he added when he saw Robin's 'are you serious?' expression, and he smiled small. “And then I haven't wanted anyone. What about you, getting back on track?”

Robin snorted a laugh and shook her head. She had just taken her daily medication, and she felt more recovered from the morning work.

“I want to devote time to myself. Besides, I still don't feel quite... right. Does it ever happen, anyway? Do you get-up one day and feel normal? I mean, your leg's never growing back.”

“That's right,” Strike looked at her affectionately and patted her hand briefly, his ears turning red. “To be honest, not quite, but most days... you just get used to the new normal. I don't really think much about the past, so I don't compare. For me, it's military strictness, this is how the new situation is and there's nothing I can do so just go on with it. Besides, amputees tend to feel the missing limb as if it was there so... sometimes, it literally feels like nothing's changed.” He added in a lighter tone, attempting to keep the situation in a light-mood, almost comical.

“You're right, it's not quite the same...” Robin admitted, thoughtful. Strike bit the inside of his cheek for a moment and then leaned forward towards her, putting a hand on hers again.

“Robin, truth be told, I don't know how I would survive what you're surviving. I don't know how you do it.”

Robin looked surprised at him. In her mind, his problem was way bigger than hers.

“Come on Cormoran, my problem at least as a treatment, yours...”

“Everything I've ever survived in my life, and it has been a lot, it was all because I was strong here,” Strike tapped his head. “My brain's never failed me, I've always trusted it fully. It always saved my arse and kept me mentally strong through a bit of a disturbing childhood, shitty teens, mum's murder, and then in the army it reshaped it to make me stronger. If it wasn't because I had my brain fully fine and in check, ready to keep me mentally strong... I would've probably shot myself a long time ago. I don't know how I would've survived the explosion that took my half leg without it. But you have to go on every day without being able to fully rely on it, even if it's what controls literally everything for you. And you have to find ways to stay strong even when your brain isn't, because it's still hurt and on-recovery. What you're doing is like if I tried to run at the Olympics and win the gold with my both legs but both full of fractures and cuts. Sounds mental, doesn't it? But it's what you're forced to do. It baffles me, honestly, that you can even laugh still. And plus, I suffered concussions, always thought they were bloody terrible... and you walk around with a broken skull, haven't heard you complain once. You're a fucking soldier, woman. And that's not a tough brain, that's a tough everything, you know? To do what you're doing, that's having a bloody strong spirit.”

Robin smiled sweetly, touched, and squeezed his hand back. For a moment, she thought she was going to cry, but she didn't.

“Do you want to know how I do it?” Robin murmured. Strike looked at her intently, rubbing circles with her thumb on the back of her hand. “Most of the time, I don't know. There's just no other option but to get up and out of bed. No option, is like... if your leg had been amputated in the battlefield and then you had been awake, I guarantee you'd have found the way to drag you out without complaining, because we do incredible things when it's about survival. That said... if I was alone... then I really don't think I would've gotten this far. Sometimes I think what would've happened if I had woken-up with no memories and no family, no friends, no one sitting by my bed... there's people that live that, you know? And then what? I wouldn't have known what to do, I wouldn't have felt strong enough, just bloody depressed. I don't even want to think of it, it gives me chills. So yeah... people do help a lot. You did an awful lot. Probably more than anyone else.”

They sat there looking at each other affectionately for a while, and it felt as it could almost happen something more, but the beat passed and nothing happened.

“It does sound quite terrible,” Strike murmured at last. He, too, had needed people more than he'd admit out-loud after the explosion. “It's funny... or not...” he said insecure. “But I've always been quite fine on my own, and when I met you, I was in a really shitty situation... and I think it was the very first time, when knowing, just knowing, there was someone around, changed things entirely for me, to the point in which every time you had to go to Masham, it felt as if nothing was quite right here. I've never met anyone whose absence felt so enormously. I mean, Nick and Ilsa have always been my best friends, and I don't feel any sadder by their absence.”

Robin looked at him in disbelief and surprise, and Strike suddenly felt really awkward. He didn't want her to feel she was his property or something, or that she was pressured to stay with him and never go anywhere, or that he'd be sad when she went home.

“I don't mean...! I mean, I won't cry when you go home, it's just... you know...”

“I know,” Robin smiled, squeezing his hand. “You're my best friend. You care.”

“Of course.”

Robin stood up, and Strike's hand felt cold by the absence of hers.

“Cormoran, would you mind if I nap on your bed? I'm feeling quite drained, and I wouldn't want to fall asleep on the bus...”

“No worries, and nothing of buses, I'll drive you home. Buses are full of bacteria, Robin, nothing adequate for you now.” Strike said with a fake tone of reprimanding that was actually comical. Robin chuckled and nodded, going to his room. Strike sighed, looking at the two empty plates as he waited for his heart to stop racing. It seemed like it always did that when she was around.

  
  



	14. Remember us

**Chapter 14:**

As London grew colder and snowier if possible while they got to the last few days of January, Strike kept training Robin, and she kept remembering bits here and there. Parts of her job sounded familiar, but she had to half-learn computer again, since all that she remembered was how to turn it on and off and how to open google and search things. As Strike explained things, however, it was often that she'd find them more familiar, her memory refreshed, as if she could remember buildings and Strike could remind her the streets that link them.

However, and even though Robin was only working until lunch-time five days a week, the more days they spent together, the more Strike noticed Robin seemed to be way better than she actually was. He started noticing how easily she overreacted; if she burned with the tea she'd get more pissed-off than what was normal, or if a case was frustrating she'd get very frustrated and very quickly, but Strike could often help her calm down pretty fast, and when he couldn't, he'd hug her until the world seemed a bit less heavy, letting her breathe into his jumper and support her head on the softness of his chest.

There were just good days and bad days. Strike understood because he had lived a similar experience in his life, and he tried to be comprehensive.

On a snowy, freezing day of January, Strike had overdone his leg and had to remove his prosthesis and rest his stump on a chair while he worked, so he had had no option but to ask Robin whether she wouldn't mind doing a surveillance for him. He didn't ask for much; go to this address at this hour and check for this person, and tell me what they've done for an hour. She diligently left, promising he had nothing to worry about and that she'd be back shortly.

About an hour and a half later, Strike's phone rang and he saw it was Robin.

“Hello,” Strike saluted amicably.

“Cormoran, I'm sorry...”

“You've got nothing to apologize for. How can I help you?”

“I...” Robin sounded anxious, and Strike was almost certain of having heard a sniffle. “I'm lost.”

“You're lost? Okay, what can you see?”

“Uh...” Robin looked around. “I'm at a small garden, like a small park, I guess. Would you call this small? I don't know...” she seemed so confused and lost, it broke Strike's heart.

“Okay, don't you worry. This is what we're going to do, okay? Go to the texting app, the one I taught you, and click on my name, then the share options, remember? Where you can send a picture? There's one option that says 'Send Location'. Click there and I'll go pick you up.”

“But you can't walk! Just... tell me how to get home...”

“Robin, don't worry about a thing, alright? I'll get a taxi.”

“But the money...”

“I've got it. Besides, I think the swelling has gone down enough for me to fit the prosthesis and I'll help with the crutches so I don't put my full weight on it. Do you think you're somewhere safe?”

“Uh...” Robin sighed. “I think so? I'm sitting on a bench and I can see children playing nearby, surrounded by parents...”

“Good. Then don't move, and I'll be right there. Anything else, just call me.”

It took Strike a long time to find Robin, even with the taxi. The location the phone had figured wasn't entirely accurate and he had to crutch around, but finally he saw her, sitting on a bench whose snow had melted away, and looking cold, lost, and sad. She only seemed to look guiltier when she saw him crutching towards her and stumbling with the snow.

“There you are,” he made sure to smile, trying to reassure her. “Did anyone hurt you?”

“No,” Robin said quietly, ashamed. “Nothing happened.”

“Well, let's go back. I'll make you a hot tea and we can sit down and chill, how does that sound?”

Robin said nothing, and followed her with the head down. Strike frowned, and they were soon back in another taxi. When the driver told Strike how much money the trip was, he thought Robin's head lowered a little further. She wouldn't have money to pay it, not now that she was spending on therapy and treatments, not to mention rent.

Strike waited until they were both sitting on the sofa of his sitting room with tea, and put the mug down on the coffee table, putting a warm arm around her and holding her close.

“What's the matter?” Strike asked her softly.

“I'm useless,” Robin said in a bare whisper.

“No you aren't.”

“But I am. Cormoran, I was going well, but when I entered the park... I suddenly forgot. One minute I was staring at a pretty bird on a tree, and the next I didn't know where I was or where I was going. I sat down, pulled the notes where you described everything so well... but suddenly they didn't make any sense to me anymore. I took my phone, went to maps... but I didn't even understand what was north, or where was the dot going when I moved.”

She looked so frustrated and miserable, and Strike just held her closer.

“It is all right,” Strike said softly. “You went out there and you tried something very very difficult, and you half succeeded. Another day, you'll get the other half done, but it's slow progress, remember? Even when it's one step forward and two backwards, you need to remember you'll keep giving steps forward.”

“But you trusted me and I failed! I got fucking lost!” Robin said infuriated, pushing him away. Strike separated and observed her as she rubbed her eyes frantically and puffed looking away. “Bugger...!” he heard her mutter.

Unexpectedly, he snorted a laugh and grinned, and she looked confused. She hadn't said that word in months, in fact since she had been injured, and Strike didn't realize how much he'd missed it. But Robin, of course, didn't understand that.

“You said 'bugger,'” Strike pointed out. “You used to say that all the time and I loved it, but ever since the injury, you haven't. It's the first time I hear that word in three months.”

Robin's eyes widened and she nodded slowly.

“I want to be myself...” she said with emotion in her voice, looking down.

Strike pursed his lips in thought and then he carefully removed his prosthesis and pulled his trouser sleeve, exposing his stump. He had never really shoved it in anyone's face, but he was trying to make a point.

“Look at it,” Strike said. Robin looked up and she was shocked to see the prosthesis. She could see his hairy leg had no hair from the knee down, and the are where his leg ended was full of small and long scars. “Robin, what we've lost, it cannot come back. It will never, ever, be the exact same of what it was, even if some days feel like nothing's changed, that's the most we can aspire to and the sooner we accept it, the better. It's happened. You're a good person, that's had three monsters come and try to kill her in her short life, and as unfair as it is, as terrible as it is, you cannot change it. You can get angry, you can make a fuss, and you'll be in your perfect right, but you can't change the facts, only accept them and love yourself even when you've changed.”

“I'm just... I'm only twenty-eight. I didn't even do anything to Sarah, she got everything she wanted. My husband, my house... and me,” Robin took a hard breath. “And she's going to spend her life in a comfy cell with no worries as she is feed and kept alright with my taxes money, you know? While I have to live every day literally going nuts to make it.” A tear fell down her cheek, and then another.

Strike pulled her into his arms again and sat in silence for a few minutes, feeling her relax between his arms.

“You know, I've seen babies suffer immensely from absence syndrome because their parents were drug addicts and they got used to the drug from the womb. I've seen kids be left orphans for wars they didn't ask for. Every day, Robin, every day, someone too young has to face something too big and totally undeserved they never asked for. I'm very sorry it's happening to you too,” Strike said softly after all, keeping her close. “But I'm here. If it serves of any consolation, I'm here. And it gets better, I promise.”

“I think it was the park...” Robin murmured against his chest. “I think it somehow gave me PTSD...”

“That makes sense,” Strike nodded. “See? You're smart. You've identified the trigger and now we can help you with parks. Small steps, okay?”

“Slowly but steadily forward.”

“Exactly,” Strike patted her back and pulled back. “Wanna take a nap?”

When Strike woke up an hour later, Robin was still snuggled against his side, snoozing softly while they both lied, dressed, under a thick blanket on top of his bed. He chuckled looking at her, and closed his eyes again.

  
  



	15. Forget me not

**Chapter 15:**

It was a month later, on Valentine's Day, that Strike considered that Robin was truly getting back on track. Her headaches were lessening, she was managing her moods better, and she didn't get too frustrated any-more, although she was taking more breaks now than before; perhaps that was the trick. Strike knew that, with her usual rhythm, she was never going to improve. She double-checked everything she did, she wrote everything she had to do on a notepad, and she was hyper-attentive of every little thing she did to make sure she wouldn't forget, that she was conscious, that she kept things stored in her brain. And Strike knew she was going to therapy and to the doctor often, that she took her meds, ate healthier, and took plenty of naps. She had even gone to Masham the weekend before, all on her own, without a problem.

At the same time, it was getting harder and harder for Strike to conceal three years worth of feelings developing for the honey-haired young woman. He knew all the reasons why trying anything would be a horrible, truly terrible mistake, and yet every time she smiled at him, every time they worked a case together, every time she laughed, he felt his chest take a leap and the dragon inside of him purr, domesticated by her sweet, gentle hand. It was unavoidable, and it was starting to make him go nuts. For the last two weeks, he had dreamed of her every night, and not every dream had been suitable for under-aged.

But he couldn't tell her. It'd be terrible. She would reject him and then what? Uncomfortable work environment. He was pretty sure she could even sue him for... something. But what if she felt the same? What if they were to be better than Sherlock and Watson? Sometimes he could've sworn she looked at him with a special twinkle in her eyes... but perhaps he was only self-convincing.

In any case, on Valentine's Day it was a Thursday and they worked all day. No one mentioned that it was Valentine's, and when the time to leave came, Robin smiled like usual and waved goodbye with her usual 'see you tomorrow!' chant, and Strike felt the same feeling of being lost her goodbyes always gave her, and like usual drank beer on his sofa while pouting, watching football and eating a hamburger, because he knew he wasn't Robin's type and there was no way they would ever be happy together in such way. The novelty came from Robin when, near dinner time, she rang his doorbell.

“Estella's gone out with her girlfriend,” Robin commented. “And I was a bit lonely so I figured, I should see my friend! And I brought goodies,” she smirked, raising a bag with chocolate, beer, and chips, and Strike's inner dragon melted and his lips curved into a grin as he moved to let her in and tried not to think of wedding proposals.

“You've always been smart,” Strike complimented. “Good job.”

Three beers and fifty minutes of a miserable Arsenal game later, they were both pretty brave on alcohol, Robin pretty tipsy, and they were enjoying far too much the closeness they had under a thick woollen blanket snuggled on Strike's sofa. Strike made a mental note of watching more games with her, preferably the ones in which Arsenal lost, because she hadn't stopped saying 'bugger' and he had a feeling one of those times he'd just kiss her.

“That was a sad game,” Robin commented stuffing chocolate in her mouth.

“Not if you're a fan of the Chelsea.”

“No, I'm a fan of the Arsenal,” Strike looked at her, surprised, and she shrugged. “Your team's my team, we're partners.” Robin added, matter-of-factly.

Strike stared at her with surprise, and turned the TV on, turning to face her with his whole body, looking fondly at her.

“You know? You're a very nice person, Robin.”

The blue-grey spheres that Robin had for eyes moved up and she made a thoughtful gesture, her lips opening slightly in concentration. They looked soft and warm and without realizing, Strike was licking his own.

“Didn't you use to tell me that a lot?” Strike chortled.

“Yeah, well,” Strike blushed, and got serious all of the sudden. “You've earned it a lot.” Robin grinned at him, satisfied. Then she seemed shy and looked down for a moment, bit her lip, and then faced him again, and this time there was resolve in her eyes.

“I almost died.”

“I know.”

“You almost died.”

“I suppose...”

Robin shrugged.

“I don't think we should be losing time, Cormoran. We'll never get it back and... it can all end so quickly, shouldn't we try to make the most of it?”

The older man looked at her confused, then shrugged, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Then...” Robin timidly pursed her lips. “Then there's something you should know. I've remembered something else about you.”

“Please let it not be the hairy belly...” he said in a light tone, and Robin giggled.

“That too...”

“Shit...”

“But it's okay,” Robin looked at him so warmly, he almost felt on fire. Then she was blushing, but looked suddenly serious. “I remembered being jealous when I saw you with another woman. I remembered comparing you with Matt, and spending my honeymoon trying to convince myself I only admired you, and numerous times wishing it was you touching me and not him, and that it was you knocking on the door and not a client. And I remember us hugging at my wedding too... and how that was the highlight of the wedding.” Her voice was soft and low, full of shyness, and Strike had to ask himself if he was hearing it right. His dragon stood up, looking into the horizon with determination, puffing its chest out.

“Robin...”

“You don't have to say anything,” said Robin, daring to look at her. “I know. I'm not in my best moment, and I'm quite the weight on anyone's shoulders, and too dependent and needy now, and you'd rather be with... someone fine. We can keep working like nothing, Cormoran, it's all right... I just needed you to know.”

“Just listen to me, would you?” Strike smiled. “Robin, you're a very fine person,” her eyes widened in realization, and he added, more timidly; “and if you hadn't woken-up, I would've not known what to do. I am lost without you, Robin. Even if you had completely forgotten me... I wouldn't have left your side. I would've reminded you who am I every single day, if necessary.”

“I will not forget you, Cormoran.” Robin said firmly, a twinkle in her eyes. Strike cupped her cheeks and she didn't pull away. They were exceptionally close.

“Perhaps I should give you something to make sure you remember me?”

Robin smirked.

“Maybe you should.”

And just like that, Strike's thick lips met Robin's, her arms surrounded his torso, and the kiss deepened. They were off to making new memories that they could never forget, for the rest of their lives.

THE END.


End file.
